Yellow and Green Make A Man Blue
by Alex Kade
Summary: Does Evan ever consider the potential health risks to tagging along with a doctor? Well, he's about to find out first-hand, and there's not much Hank can do about it but watch as his brother's life hangs in the balance.
1. Part 1

_**Part 1**_

**A/N: **So here it is! Finally, I begin a new fic other than my National Treasure, as per request! I bounced around with so many ideas for this story, did a bunch of different research until I found a medical issue I liked the sound of, and went back and forth on how to go about writing it. I know I said before that I'd write my next fic more in story format, but I've come to really embrace the style I've been using for the NT fic – the one that falls partway between story and screenplay. So, if you're super detail-oriented and really like to know what's going on inside the character's heads, then this story probably isn't for you –sorry! But if you want to "see" it like you were watching an episode where you can only guess at what people are thinking, then you're in the right place! Anyway, take it for what it is and enjoy. :)

Oh yeah, and I don't own any of the Royal Pains characters with the exception of the OC's.

* * *

Hank and Evan Lawson are walking up a curving, red-brick path winding between carefully-edged hedges. The house ahead is also made of red brick – a beautiful three-story home fashioned after those built in colonial Williamsburg, complete with full-scale Civil War cannon replicas littering the front lawn.

Hank grips his black medical bag in his hand as he walks while Evan taps a manila folder against one palm.

"Today's the day, Hank, I can feel it," Evan says, nothing but confidence in his voice.

"Evan, he didn't like you yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. And you think he's going to somehow magically like you on the day you hand over his bill?"

"Mr. Brinkley happens to be a man who appreciates the fine art of economics. Once he sees how I laid out all of his charges in painstaking detail – see, I even made a little graph for him, here," Evan opens the folder and shoves the page in Hank's face, who swats it away. "-he'll have no choice but to appreciate my talents."

They stop at the door and Hank reaches out to ring the bell. As they wait for the answer, Hank turns back to Evan. "I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but people generally don't like accountants."

Evan opens his mouth to retaliate, but quickly transforms it into a smile as the door opens. A tall, sophisticated older gentleman with silver hair, mustache, lean build, and sporting a small set of reading spectacles stands inside.

"Mr. Brinkley!" Evan greets him, "Looking well, today. I knew you'd look good once you were out of that bathrobe."

Mr. Brinkley lifts his eyebrows at Evan quizzically, whose smile disappears and is replaced with a look of sheer mortification.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean," he laughs nervously, trying to bring back the confident grin, and speaks rapidly, "I mean, of course, you're probably a perfectly good-looking man under-underneath, but I – I was talking about your clothes. I thought you'd look good in regular clothes – which you do. Oh, but not to say that your clothes are just regular, because that jacket is just _fantastic_."

Hank steps forward and takes Mr. Brinkley's hand, shaking it. "What my brother means to say is that you look like you're feeling much better today, Mr. Brinkley."

"Yes…yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Mr. Brinkley answers, stepping backwards into his house and opening the door wider. "I imagine you wish to do a final check-up, anyway?"

"Always better to be safe," Hank smiles, stepping through the door.

Evan stands back on the doorstep for an extra second. "Great start," he says to himself sarcastically before following the other men inside.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Brinkley," Hank says, putting his supplies back in his bag, "Your fever's not one hundred percent gone but it's definitely way down. You seem to be eating and drinking normally, again. You're not nauseous. I'd say the flu is pretty much out of your system, but you want to take it easy for the next couple of days. If you push yourself too hard too soon, you might have a relapse."

Mr. Brinkley walks forward and shakes Hank's hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Lawson."

"Just Hank is fine," Hank smiles.

"So you keep telling me. There's respect in using a last name, son, and you should expect more of that from your clients."

"And there's trust and comfort in using a first name," Hank counters, "Which is what I _prefer_ my clients to feel when I'm treating them."

Mr. Brinkley laughs, "Well put, son, well put." He clears his throat. "Now how should we go about the compensation?"

Evan, who has been quietly sitting on the couch, clears his own throat. "That would be my department." He stands up and walks over to Mr. Brinkley, handing him the manila folder. "I use my full name when I introduce myself, by the way."

"I know," Mr. Brinkley grumbles as he opens the folder, "Came off rather pompous."

Evan presses his lips tightly together and stares up at the ceiling. He takes in a short breath before changing the subject. "So, you can see there where I've broken down all the expenses for you," he points at the paper Mr. Brinkley is reading over.

"I'm not blind, son. I've been reading and analyzing billing sheets long before you were out of your diapers." He stops reading and glances up over his spectacles at Evan. "Unless of course you still wear diapers."

Evan stands stunned for a second, then allows himself to chuckle a few times. "That's, that's a good one, Mr. Brinkley…So, how do want to handle that payment?"

"Oh, I'm not paying this. It's preposterous," Mr. Brinkley states, shoving the folder back into Evan's chest. He begins to walk away, Evan right at his heels.

"Sir, with all due respect, you didn't think Hank was coming over here every day for free, did you? I mean, you have _cannons_ in your yard," Evan laughs, "I think you can afford to pay your doctor bills."

Mr. Brinkley stops in front of an antique desk that matches the continued colonial theme running throughout the inside of his house, as well. He opens a drawer to pull out a checkbook and a pen. He scribbles something onto it and holds it out to Evan.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to pay you at all," he states, "Just not _your_ bill – it's ridiculous. This is what I'm willing to pay for Dr. Lawson's services."

"But, in my documentation, I clearly demonstrated-"

"Evan," Hank cuts him off, "Let him pay what he wants. I've told you that before."

"But Hank,"

"Evan!" Hank uses his _this argument is over_ tone, and Evan sighs, taking the check from Mr. Brinkley and sticking it in his pocket without looking at it. "Thank you, Mr. Brinkley," Hank continues, "We'll just get out of your hair, here. Call me if you need anything else."

"I will," Mr. Brinkley assures him, showing the brothers to the door. Just as he is about to close it behind them, he gives Hank a warm smile, then shoots Evan a frown. As the door clicks shut, they turn to walk back to Hank's car.

"Don't say one word, Hank, or I swear to God," Evan mumbles. He reaches into his pocket to pull out the check and suddenly stops walking. Hank, who has taken a few extra steps forward, stops to look at his brother.

"Is it really that bad?" he inquires curiously.

"No, uh, no, it's not bad at all. In fact," Evan's face lights up in a smile, "it's great! Dude, he overpaid this by like thirty-six percent of my price analysis."

"So…what?," Hank asks, "Are you telling me he values me as a doctor more than you do?"

"…pfft, no, of course not," Evan grins, shaking his head. Hank turns away from him and keeps walking. "Hank, come on," Evan pleads, chasing after him, "I thought you said I have a tendency to _over_ charge for your services. Hank, man, slow down! Okay, I admit, I decided to shave the price just a little on this one because I really wanted Mr. Brinkley to like me, but it had nothing to do with your skills. Hank!"

Hank, who continues keeping a few paces ahead, allows a little evil smile to play on his lips.

* * *

**A/N:** And, this is where opening credits would play...plus a few annoying commercials (unless it's that gum commercial where the ram slams into the dude talking on his cell phone - gets me every time!) followed by some great clips from Psych or something. Oh, and that funny bit where all the characters from the various USA shows are talking about Monk. That one's funny! :)


	2. Part 2

_**Part 2**_

Hank, donned in a Navy blue and gold "Notre Dame" t-shirt and matching workout pants, paces the kitchen and looks down at his watch anxiously. He makes an irritated face and walks over to the bottom of the stairs.

"Evan!" he calls up, "We're gonna miss the kick-off if you don't hurry up!"

"Keep your pants on, I'm comin'," Evan mumbles as he makes his way down the stairs, dressed in merely a plain white tee and his khaki shorts.

"Really? It took you that long to get ready and you're wearing _that_?" Hank teases, "No gold, collared shirt or blue blazer or anything?"

"Ha ha, very funny. You know I've never really been into football."

"Yeah, but this is a client. The Senator's son, no less…and a football game - you know, full of potential _new_ clients? Since when do you pass up an opportunity to schmooze in front of a crowd like this?"

Evan shrugs. "I don't know, just not in the mood today, I guess."

Hank squints his eyes at him, cocking his head to one side a little. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, Hank. Shouldn't we be leaving?"

Hank looks at his watch, again. "Oh, we gotta go. You want to drive?"

"Nah, let's take your car." Hank gives him another odd look. "What? You think I'm gonna waste my precious gas on a football game?"

"It's a _charity_ game, Evan, that the _Senator's son_ is playing in."

"Whatever, can we go," Evan says as we walks away, "And you said that already."

"I was trying to stress the point," Hank argues, following Evan out the door.

* * *

As they're making their way down the stairs to their seats at the front of the stadium, Hank is lecturing Evan.

"…and we're sitting right next to Mrs. Everett, so please, _please,_ try to look like your enjoying the game."

"Hank! Stop!" Evan demands, getting fed up. "I got this, okay?"

He leads the rest of the way down to their seats, and Lucy Everett stands to greet them. "Hank, you made it," she smiles.

Evan answers for his brother, smiling. "Oh, he's been talking about this game nonstop since you gave him the tickets."

"Good to know he was so excited," she laughs, "And you are…?"

"Evan R. Lawson, CFO of HankMed," Evan says in his usual manner, shaking her hand gently and reaching over to shake the hand of her daughter. "You must be Melody, I take it?"

She shakes his hand, then asks, "Who, exactly, are you?"

"Melody, be polite," her mother scolds, and Hank laughs.

"No, that's okay," he says, "he gets that all the time. Melody, this is my little brother, Evan."

"Ah," she nods, and turns her gaze back to the field.

"So sorry," Lucy tells Evan, "She's just very excited to watch Kendrick's first game, even if it is just a charity event."

"Right, right," Evan nods, "I completely understand. You should have seen _me_ on the day Hank, here, had to perform his first real surgery. I couldn't watch, of course, not that I wanted to because I would have passed out, but I was literally sweating bullets just the same."

"Oh, it's about to start!" Melody shouts out, diverting everyone's attention to the field.

Hank and Evan quickly shuffle around each other so Hank can sit next to Lucy and Evan can take the isle seat. They all clap as the music starts to play and the announcer begins his pep-speech.

* * *

"Come on, come on, come on," Hank mutters in anticipation, sitting so far on the edge of his seat that he's about to fall off.

A Notre Dame uniform-clad boy is racing across the field, ball tucked under one arm, weaving around the members of the other team. As he gets closer and closer to the end zone, Melody jumps up out of her chair, screaming.

"Go, Kendrick! You got this! Take it in!"

Lucy wrings her wrists nervously, silently cheering on her son. With one final push, Kendrick sprints around his opponent and leaps across the line, slamming the ball down into the turf. Hank, Lucy, Melody, and everyone else in the stadium jump up out of their chairs, screaming and clapping wildly.

"Kid's talented, right?" Hank shouts, turning to talk to his brother. His smile quickly vanishes as he notices Evan is not standing right beside him. He looks down to see his brother fast asleep in the chair, then sneaks a quick peak over at the Everett's to see if they've noticed that his brother missed the play . They are still cheering loudly, as is everyone else all around Evan, who is sleeping through it peacefully. Hank sits down, concern replacing the annoyed look.

"Evan," he calls out, gently shaking his brother's shoulder.

"Hmmm, wha?" Evan answers groggily, looking around and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He looks confused for a second before the memory of where he is dawns on him. "Oh, man, I told you I didn't like football games," he says apologetically.

"Yeah, but you've never slept through one before. Normally you just whine in my ear until I'm on the verge of killing you." Hank places his hand to Evan's forehead and pulls it back quickly. "Oh my God, Evan, you're burning up. We have to get you out of here."

"No, Hank, I'm fine. The game's almost over – I can stick it out."

"No, you can't. There's still a whole quarter left. We're going home."

"Hank-"

"Don't argue with me, Evan." He turns to Lucy, talking directly into her ear so she can hear him.

"Oh, of course, of course," she nods after he explains.

"Thank you," Hank says, "and tell Kendrick I said hi. Oh, and great game." He turns back to Evan. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

* * *

As the car rolls down the highway, Hank looks worriedly over at Evan, who is reclined back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed.

"Stop that," Evan tells him, eyes still shut.

"What? I didn't do anything," Hank says, looking back at the road.

"Stop freaking out."

"I'm not 'freaking out.'" Hank argues, mimicking Evan's tone of voice.

"Then how come I can feel your 'freak out' rays burning into me every time you look over here?" Evan smiles, turning his head to look at his brother.

Hank is quiet for a beat, then nods reluctantly. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little freaked."

"Well stop. It's just Mr. Brinkley's flu that he undoubtedly willed onto me with his unwavering, completely unexplainable hatred towards me. He probably practices voodoo or something."

"Evan, you told him you wanted to know what he looked like with his robe off," Hank grins at Evan's glare. "And I thought you considered him an 'economical genius.' You had another one of your man-crushes on the guy."

"Yeah, well, that was before he got me sick."

"You're the one that insisted on going over there."

"That is so not the point-" Evan's expression suddenly changes. "Hank, pull over."

"What?"

"Pull the car over!"

Hank quickly comes to a stop on the side of the road and Evan just barely has time to get out of the car before his body purges itself of his stomach contents. Hank gets out and runs around to Evan's side of the car, but Evan holds one arm out to stop him as he continues heaving. When he feels confident that he's done, he falls back into the passenger seat.

"That would of, like, projectiled all over your new pants," he laughs.

Hank lets out a relieved laugh in return. "Glad you stopped me, then. You okay?"

"Good to go," Evan says, swinging his legs back into the car and leaning back into his seat.

Hank walks swiftly back around to his side of the car, hopping into his own seat.

"So back to our previous discussion," Evan says, bringing up his arms to rest behind his head, "My point was that you're the doctor – the one that gets all hands-on with the sick people and their diseases – but you're not the one that got sick. I am. So, the only logical conclusion is that Mr. Brinkley placed a hex on me."

"That's logical?" Hank raises an eyebrow. "You must be sicker than I thought – you're getting delusional."

"Yeah? Hey, you think my delusional mind will let me hallucinate five, like, tall, tan supermodels wearing pink string bikinis in my bedroom tonight?"

Hank shakes his head. "Never mind. You're fine." He puts his sunglasses on and looks at the road ahead. Evan grins and turns away, allowing his eyes to shut, once again.


	3. Part 3

_**Part 3**_

**A/N: ** Okay, so this may sound like a totally dumb question, but what, exactly, is the difference between "hits" and "visitors" on the traffic layout? Not that it's at all important, but I've been curious about it for a while now, so if someone could enlighten me, I'd be much obliged!

And thanks to everyone that has reviewed, alerted, and favorited so far! You guys are the fuel to my fire!

* * *

"No, no way, not gonna happen," Evan firmly says.

"Quit being such a baby. It'll help you," Hank tries in vain to convince him.

The brothers are facing off from across the bed in Evan's room. Evan, who is wearing only a pair of dark blue, plaid pajama pants, has his back to the wall. Hank, whose back is to the door, shifts quickly towards the end of the bed but Evan moves just as quickly towards the head, ready to bounce over it if need be. When Hank stops moving, so does Evan.

"Evan, this is ridiculous. You're going to make yourself sick again if you don't stop running around."

"Then stop chasing me."

"I wouldn't be chasing you if you'd just let me do it."

"Do what?" Divya inquires as she enters the bedroom behind Hank. She looks at Hank, then over at Evan. "You don't look as sick as Hank said you were," she tells him as she does a quick visual examination.

"See, there, thank you, Divya. I don't need it," Evan says by way of continuing the argument.

"Need what?" she asks more firmly.

"Oh God," Evan mumbles, then leaps over the bed past Hank and shoves past Divya in the doorway, running down the hall. Both of them scrunch up their faces as they hear him vomiting into the toilet. Divya looks back at Hank, a question forming on her lips.

"Fourth time," Hank answers her unasked question, "Fever at 102.3, slightly elevated heart rate, and he can't seem to keep anything down."

"So he has the flu," she states.

"Yes, and if it's Mr. Brinkley's flu, it's only going to get worse. I'm trying to convince him to let me hook him up to an I.V."

"Which I don't need," Evan insists as he makes his way back into the room.

"If you can't keep liquids down, you're going to get dehydrated and you're only gonna feel worse because of it, not to mention the added dangers that poses to your body," Hank tries again to convince his brother.

"He's right, Evan," Divya says, trying to help.

"Traitor," Evan shoots at her, then continues talking as he crawls back into his bed, "Look, I know you're trying to help, but this isn't exactly like the first time I've had the flu. You never stuck anything into me before-"

"You were like seventeen the last time you had the flu," Hank interjects.

"The last time you _saw_ me with the flu," Evan corrects him, "And I didn't call you any time after that because I knew you'd panic."

"I'm not panicking," Hank denies rather quickly.

"Oh come on," Evan laughs, "you've taken my temperature like thirty-seven times."

"He's exaggerating," Hank tells Divya, while Evan shakes his head and mouths "no I'm not" at her. Divya rolls her eyes at both of them.

"Was it really necessary to call me over here for this?" she asks. "The last time I checked, I don't think settling squabbles between siblings was in my job description. Hank, if he doesn't want the I.V., you can't force him to use it,"

"Thanks, Divs," Evan grins.

"And you," she turns angry eyes onto him, making him drop the smile, "are an idiot for not wanting it. Why would you turn something away that's going to make you better faster?"

"I don't need a needle and a tube pumping cold…whatever-it-is into my veins to get over the flu," he says, with a slight shudder and disgusted look.

"Ugh, just when I thought you couldn't be any _less _manly," Divya sighs, then turns back to Hank. "We could just sedate him, you know."

"Hey," Evan objects with a pout, pulling the covers up and getting comfortable.

"No," Hank says, sounding defeated, "Sorry, Divya, I just thought he might listen better to you."

The two of them leave Evan's room, Hank shutting the door behind them. They walk down the stairs into the kitchen.

"I understand your concern, Hank," Divya assures him, "But I'm sure he'll be fine. He's younger, in better physical shape, and generally healthier than Mr. Brinkley. I shouldn't have to tell you what that means."

"He'll recover faster and it won't hit him as hard," Hank nods, "I know, but he's still my little brother."

"And you _are_ panicking," she smiles.

"No, not panicking…but maybe being just a little overly-cautious. Don't let Evan know I said that, though."

"Consider my lips sealed."

Hank hesitates a little. "Can you do me one more favor?" he finally asks.

"As long as it isn't reading Evan a bedtime story."

"Ha, no, but I was hoping you could maybe take any appointments I might get tomorrow?"

"I think I can handle that," she nods. "After all, I'll know where to find you should I need your assistance."

"I'll be right here."

She nods again, then heads for the door. She turns back before walking out. "I think it's sweet," she smiles, "that you look after him like that."

"I don't think he does," Hank half-smiles in return.

"He does," she says confidently, and leaves Hank alone in the kitchen.

* * *

Hank awakens with a start as his door is suddenly thrown open. Evan barges in, one hand covering his nose and mouth.

"Whoa, whoa, keep the vomit in the bathroom, Evan," Hank says, jumping out of bed.

"No, no, I did that this morning already," Evan answers, voice muffled through his hand.

"Then what-?" Hank starts to ask, then sees a drop of blood fall from Evan's hand onto the floor. "What happened?" he asks as he grabs Evan's arms, maneuvering him around to sit him on the bed.

"Nothing – I mean, not nothing, obviously-"

"Evan," Hank tries to hurry him to the point.

"Okay, so I threw up, went to wash my face and suddenly just got this major gusher of a nose bleed out of nowhere."

"Okay, just sit tight for a second," Hank orders as he heads out the door, "and try not to bleed on anything - this isn't our house."

"Sure, worry more about the house," Evan grumbles, but clamps his hand down tighter all the same.

Hank returns within seconds carrying a small towel.

"Here, hold this to your nose," he says in full doctor mode as he hands Evan the towel.

"Should I, should I lean back or something?" Evan asks, pressing the towel to his face and beginning to tilt backwards.

"No!" Hank nearly shouts, reaching a hand around to the back of Evan's head to keep him from tilting back further. "No - lean back and the blood could drain down into your throat."

"Gross," Evan says, shifting forward again.

"Yeah, well, it's more gross when you swallow it and then throw it back up. Now pinch the bridge of your nose right there…" Hank shows him where to place his fingers, "and don't try blowing it - that'll just make it worse." With that, he stands up and starts to head back towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Evan asks in a nasally voice.

"I need to clean your blood off the floor, here, and wherever else you may have dripped it before it sets in."

"Well, what do _I_ do?"

"You are going to sit there just like that for another," Hank looks at the clock by his bed, "nine minutes or so. If the bleeding hasn't stopped by then, I'll have to try to find out where the blood is coming from and either cauterize it or pack it."

"What does that mean?"

Hank walks out the door.

"Hank, what does that mean?" Evan calls after him to no avail.

* * *

Divya opens up the back of her SUV and places her bag inside, holding her phone up to her ear with her other hand.

"…it was on the borderline. I went ahead and gave him a stitch to satisfy his mother, but I'm sure it would have healed just fine without it," she pauses, nodding her head and smiling. "…Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking. So, how's _your_ patient doing?"

Hank, who is sitting on the bar stool at his kitchen island, unconsciously glances up at the stairs as he answers, "About as well as I expected. His fever's running a little hotter today and he still can't keep anything down."

"And he's still refusing the I.V., I take it?"

Hank laughs, "Fighting it off with some hidden strength reserve he should have depleted in the bathroom a long time ago. We had a small incident with a nosebleed early this morning, too."

"Really? I would expect that more with a cold than the flu. Is Evan prone to nosebleeds?"

"The only time I've ever seen his nose bleed was when Tommy Spencer punched him in the face in the fifth grade for flirting with his girlfriend."

Divya smirks, "I'm surprised that hasn't happened more often since then."

Hank nods his head. "He learned pretty quickly how to dodge a punch after that."

"Yes, I've seen that," she recalls.

A door shuts upstairs and Hank stands up immediately. "Speaking of my patient, seems he's up and at it again."

"Another trip to 'deplete more reserves' I take it?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go check on him. Wanna come with?"

"Oh, why not?" she shrugs, and sits on the rear bumper of her car.

Hank heads up the stairs and knocks softly on the bathroom door.

"Evan, how you doing, buddy?" he asks.

"Hank, I can take a piss by myself," Evan shoots back.

"Well, someone's grumpy," Divya's voice comes through the phone.

Hank steps back from the door to give his brother some privacy and Evan comes out a few seconds later, frowning as he sees Hank still standing in the hallway. His face looks wet and his eyes are noticeably red, and Hank notices that he wavers just a little as he stands.

"Okay, so I lied," Evan responds to Hank's questioning look, "I don't have anything left to pee out if I wanted to. I was hot - wanted to splash some cold water on my face. Is that a crime?"

"Evan, you could have just called for me to-"

Evan blinks slowly and suddenly begins to sag to the ground, but Hank reaches his free arm out to catch him.

"Divya, I gotta go," he says and quickly hangs up the phone, shoving it into his pocket.

"I'm fine, Hank," Evan mumbles.

"No, you're not," Hank says as he helps get his brother back to his room.

"Huh, déjà vu," Evan speculates absently as they move slowly down the hall.

* * *

**A/N: **So, Devan fans, how psyched were you after Thursday's episode? I foresee more Evan/Divya fics coming…I was only a little irritated because now I feel the title to my "episode" here is a little too close to the title of the latest episode. Sadness…and I thought my title was so creative, too (which will make more sense later, btw!).


	4. Part 4

_**Part 4**_

"Is it in yet?" Evan asks as he lay in the bed, one hand covering his eyes.

"Just about…" Hank assures him as he finishes inserting the I.V. needle, "there. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Evan puts his hand down and looks at the unit pumping liquid into his body. "I still think it's totally unnecessary."

"You nearly collapsed in the hall."

"My legs were just a little shaky," Evan counters.

"Your fever is up to 103.4."

"It's only really dangerous if it goes above 106."

Hank jerks back, surprised. "Where did you learn that?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Fine," Hank shakes his head, "but typically the body stops its own rise in temperature when it gets to that point. Do you want to know how it ends up going _above_ its own limit?"

"Uh, based on your relentlessness, here, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess dehydration?"

"Exactly, which is what I was trying to tell you in the first place."

"Fine, fine, whatever, rub it in a little while I'm down and defenseless. I'll think of a good comeback to all this when my brain stops frying inside my skull."

"It doesn't start frying until your temperature gets above 106, remember?" Hank smirks.

"Ha ha – funny. You should do stand-up. And speaking of standing, I couldn't help but notice you didn't attach the bag, there, to one of those stick things with the wheels. How am I supposed to get to the bathroom to puke?"

Hank reaches down beside the bed and lifts up a big plastic bucket.

"Oh ho, no," Evan laughs, then realizes Hank is serious. "Oh come on, a bucket? That's so third grade."

"Evan, you were puking in a bucket two weeks ago at T.J.'s party."

"It's T-_Jay_, emphasis on the 'Jay'. He's gonna be like the next big rap star or something - and drunken puking is totally different."

"Oh this should be good," Divya says as she leans in the door frame, yet again. "Your door was open so I let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," Hank tells her, "I sort of assumed you'd be dropping by, anyway, after hanging up on you earlier."

"Can I finish my explanation, here?" Evan asks, and waits until he has their full attention before continuing. "Okay, so puking in a bucket while you're drunk is actually a sign of maturity because if you think about it, if you can keep your head enough while you're at, like, the height of your drunken demonification to remember that you shouldn't be puking into your host's tulips or on their five-thousand dollar Persian rug, then kudos are in order for being courteous enough to find yourself a bucket. Puking in a bucket while you're sick, though, just means you're too lazy to walk down the hall to the bathroom."

"Or too weak," Hank tells him, "which you've already proven you are right now."

"What exactly happened, anyway?" Divya asks.

"I'll explain downstairs. Come on," Hank says, leading her out the door.

"Hank," Evan calls out, "I.V.'s make you have to pee, don't they? What happens when I have to pee?"

"You have a bucket," Divya says slyly, shutting the door behind her.

"You can't," Evan laughs, "You can't be serious, right? Divya? Gah, would you guys quit doing that! Hank?"

The door opens back up and Hank pokes his head in. "Just call me if you have to pee, okay? Now go to sleep."

"All right, an answer, that 's all I wanted. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hank responds, gently re-closing the door.

* * *

"So far he's been following the course of Mr. Brinkley's flu exactly," Hank explains.

"Yes, he is definitely looking a bit more green around the gills than he was yesterday," Divya frowns.

"And if he stays the course, tomorrow will be worse."

"But isn't that pretty much where it ended for Mr. Brinkley? By the fourth day he was feeling better, right?"

"That still isn't gonna make tomorrow any easier. Tonight, either – I want to monitor him throughout, make sure he's doing okay."

"Would you like me to stay and help?" Divya offers.

"No, go home, I can handle this."

"I was only asking to be polite. You were supposed to say yes."

"Really, Divya," Hank states, "You don't need to stay."

She puts her hands on her hips as she talks. "So, you were up early this morning, intend on staying up all night, and hope to continue to be alert enough all day tomorrow should he take a major turn for the worse?"

"I was an ER doctor, Divya. It's not like I haven't taken double-shifts before."

"And you're a concierge doctor now, with a PA standing right in front of you willing to help out, and a sick little brother upstairs who is depending on you to be ready to get him through tomorrow. I'll watch him tonight while you get some sleep and we can trade off in the morning. Deal?"

Hank takes in a deep breath, then slowly nods his head. "Okay, it's a deal," he tells her, "But you have to promise to wake me up if anything goes wrong."

"Of course," she assures him, and they shake on it.

* * *

The clock on Evan's nightstand reads 4:00 am when Divya enters, holding a cup and a thermometer. She sets the cup down and leans over Evan, gently shaking him awake.

He groans, "Weren't you just here like ten minutes ago?"

"That was two hours ago. Now open up," she orders softly, placing the thermometer in his mouth when he complies. She pulls it back out as soon as it beeps, her jaw setting as she reads the results.

"Is my brain frying yet?" Evan asks, trying to sound funny but just coming out sounding tired.

"No, but it's getting there. You're at 103.9 now."

"Do you guys know you sound like radio announcers every time you read my temperature?" He gives her a small smile, then adds, "Why haven't I had to pee yet?"

"Because you were dehydrated to begin with and whatever your body isn't soaking in is probably getting burned up."

"You knew that would happen earlier, didn't you, when I was asking about it?"

"I might have," she grins, "Do you want your ice chips now?"

"Ice chips?"

"You asked for them last time I came in, remember? I told you if you managed not to throw up by the next time I checked on you, I'd bring you some."

"Huh, I don't remember," he says, shaking his head, "but since you went through all the trouble…"

Divya reaches around him to help him sit up just a little, but stops when he suddenly tenses.

"Ow, wait, stop," he says, gripping her wrist.

"What's wrong? What hurts?"

"Mmh, my back's kinda sore," he says, breathing through the pain until he relaxes, a signal that it has passed. "Probably from all the bending over the toilet, right?"

"And the general strain vomiting tends to inflict on the muscles, yes. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, it's gone now." He pushes himself a little higher onto his pillows, then reaches for the cup of ice.

"Slowly," Divya instructs when he begins to just tilt the whole cup towards his mouth, "Let them melt one at a time before taking another, okay? You'll have an easier time keeping the water down that way."

He nods, leaning his head back on the baseboard and shutting his eyes as he lets the cool ice melt on his tongue. He stays that way for a bit, even after the ice has long disappeared.

"You know I went to Mr. Brinkley's every day, right?" he finally asks, keeping his eyes shut.

"Yes…" Divya answers, confused as to where this is going.

"He was being a total whiner on his third day – Hank was cool about it, but it drove me nuts. If I get like that today, I give you permission to slap me."

She thinks about her response to that for a second before speaking. "Evan, as many times as I would have loved nothing more than to smack that smug grin off your face, you are a patient right now and that makes you part of our business."

Evan lifts his head up and looks at her, giving her a crooked smile. "And you never mix business with pleasure. Right, I got it."

She smiles back, then merely nods at the cup in his hand. "Eat your ice so you can go back to sleep. It should be your brother checking in on you next time."

"Thanks, Divs," he tells her sincerely.

"I'm just doing my job," she replies just as sincere.

Nodding, he quietly places another ice chip on his tongue.


	5. Part 5

_**Part 5**_

"Hey, buddy, how're you feeling?" Hank asks softly.

"Just peachy," Evan mumbles. "How do I look?"

"Like crap. You keep that ice down Divya gave you?"

Evan shakes his head, pointing at the little bit of water and bile in the bucket. Hank sighs, and pulls the thermometer out again.

"What station am I tuned into now?" Evan asks when Hank takes it out of his mouth.

"104.1 – that's a little above my personal comfort level."

"Half a degree above normal is above your personal comfort level," Evan jokes weakly.

Hank humors him with a little smile as he continues going about his examination, listening to Evan's heart rate, checking the I.V. levels, and taking a closer look at his reddened eyes. "Divya said you were having back pains?"

"Only when I move."

"I already have you on the maximum limit of ibuprofen for the fever," Hank says apologetically.

"That's okay, it's not that bad, anyway," Evan sighs. "Hey, Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll be over after today, right?"

Hank sits down on the bed beside his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, Evan, it'll be over. I promise."

"Good, 'cause this is the _worst_ flu I've ever had. I hope you and Divya don't catch it."

"I think if we were going to, we would have it by now," Hank assures him.

Evan is quiet for a little bit, his breathing evening out, so Hank gets up and quietly begins making an exit from the room. Just as he gets to the door, Evan calls out again.

"If you do get sick," he says, "I'll return the favor."

"I know you will," Hank nods, "I know."

* * *

Several hours later, Divya meets up with Hank in the kitchen, again.

"How's he doing?" she asks.

"I don't want to say good, but his temperature's holding."

"That is good news, considering it's been climbing steadily for the past three days."

"Yeah, but he's exhausted and in pain from the nausea, and here I am, forcing him to take in more liquids. He's so out of it, he keeps asking me if I _want_ him to throw up, like I'm hurting him on purpose."

"He'll be thanking you when he's better and realizes that because of you, he still has some form of a stomach lining left," she tells him comfortingly.

"Doesn't make me feel any less like the bad guy now."

"We're doctors, Hank. We're almost always the bad guy – right up there with police officers, judges, and teachers."

Hank frowns before they both bust out laughing.

"So," Divya continues when the laughter dies, "do you want me to take the night shift again tonight?"

"Is this another one of those questions where I'm supposed to answer yes?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, Divya, I would love for you to take the night shift. And thanks."

"Don't mention it," she says with a perky smile.

* * *

There's a knock on Hank's door and he jumps out of bed, instantly alert. He throws it open, spewing questions at Divya right away.

"What is it? Is he okay? Do we need to call an ambulance?"

"Relax, Hank, he's fine. You wanted me to report if there were any changes, and there's been a change - that's all."

"What kind of change?" he asks, relaxing only just a little bit.

"His fever's broke. He'll be a big sweaty mess come morning, but he should be feeling much better."

"Oh, that's great. That's great!" Hank says, relieved, then to Divya's surprise, he hugs her. She awkwardly gives him a pat on the back.

* * *

"Rise and shine, my brother," Hank says cheerily as he pushes open Evan's door the following morning. He frowns when there is no movement coming from the bed, and slowly makes his way around it to Evan's side.

"Evan?" he asks, taking note of the sweat-soaked sheets draped over Evan's body. He shakes him lightly, calling out his name again, but still gets no response.

"Divya, get in here!" he shouts, checking his brother's vitals.

Divya is there within seconds. "What's wrong?"

"He isn't breathing," Hank says, tilting Evan's head back.

"Pulse?" Divya asks.

"Normal." He opens Evan's mouth, checking for anything blocking the air passage. "Airway's clear, starting mouth-to-mouth."

He leans in, pinching Evan's nose, and sucks in a deep breath. Just as he's about to press his lips against Evan's, a hand suddenly pushes his face away.

"Oh, gross, dude," Evan laughs. "I thought you were gonna use that bag - that air thing that you squeeze..." He tries to motion with his hands what he's describing.

Hank sits back, a mixture of shock and anger on his face. Evan looks at Divya, whose eyes look a little wet.

"It was a joke," he tries to explain, but Divya just turns and storms from the room. "Divs, come on," he calls after her.

"It wasn't funny, Evan," Hank scolds. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, I was, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Everyone was so serious yesterday-"

"Because we were worried about you. Jesus, Evan, we spent three days taking care of you, and you pull this?"

"But, you knew I'd be okay. I mean, my fever broke-"

"There is _always_ something that can go wrong with a patient," Hank says angrily, "Part of being a doctor is being prepared for that. You would know that by now if you'd pay a little more attention to anyone but yourself once in a while."

"Hank, I-"

"Nevermind," Hank throws his arms up, "Just, go take a shower and get dressed. I'll make you something to eat."

He leaves the room, and a very guilty-looking Evan, in a hurry. As he hits the bottom of the stairs, Divya suddenly rushes back into the house.

"Hank, there's an emergency," she tells him, "an actual one."

"Who is it? Should we call an ambulance?"

"It's Ms. Newberg."

Hank nods in understanding and grabs his bag from where it's stashed behind a couch. "Evan!" he calls up the stairs, "I gotta go! Don't eat anything heavier than soup!" He takes off with Divya without waiting for a response.

* * *

"So what happened?" Hank asks as Divya drives to them Ms. Newberg's.

"She tripped on her dog going down the stairs."

"So which one's the patient?" ha asks in all seriousness.

"She is. the dog is fine - I actually asked the same thing," she smiles a little.

"Is she conscious?" Hank continues.

"She's the one that called. Apparently she's the only one in the house right now – I told her not to move from where she fell."

"Good, good," Hank nods. He looks out the window absently for a second before speaking. "I should have checked his temperature again."

"Evan? He's obviously fine. I'm certain he can take care of himself for the next few hours while we handle this."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Still, it was unprofessional."

"He's your brother. You don't have to be professional – _he_ certainly wasn't."

"No, but then, he rarely ever is," Hank speculates with a smile. "You have to admit, he got us good, though."

She sets her face in anger for a second, then shakes her head with a smile threatening to tug at her lips, "He definitely got us. You know this means revenge is in order."

"Oh, the war is on," Hank laughs, "But first, we have to deal with Ms. Newberg."

* * *

"Okay," Evan says, opening the cupboards, "Nothing heavier than soup…"

He reaches in, pulling a few cans of soup out, looking at them, and placing them back inside. "There we go," he smiles when he looks at the next can, "Spaghettios are pretty much soup."

He pours the contents of the can into a pot and sets it on the stove. As he leans over to stir it, a few drops of red liquid suddenly fall down into his pasta.

"Oh, crap," Evan starts, putting his hand up to his nose, "Jesus - okay, towel, towel." He pulls a dishrag out of a drawer and holds it to his face. He looks sadly down into the pot and sighs, picking it up and pouring it into the trash. "Uh-oh, Spaghettios, fate apparently agrees with Hank. I guess I'm having soup."

He leans back against the counter, making sure to keep his head forward, and pinches the bridge of his nose just as Hank had taught him.

* * *

"Ms. Newberg?" Hank calls as he steps into her house.

"Here, Hank, in the parlor," she answers.

Hank and Divya hurry in, spotting her sitting comfortably on the couch.

"I thought you were told to stay where you were," he says, concerned.

"Oh, I couldn't have you walking in on me in a tangle on the floor. How unsightly would that have been, really?"

"Less unsightly than finding you dead for moving around with a broken neck," he tells her, straight out.

"Oh, nonsense, Hank. I only fell down the last couple of steps and managed not to hit my head, somehow. It's mostly my wrist I'm concerned about."

Hank sits down on the table in front of her, shooting her a frustrated look, and holds his hand out to imply that she should let him see her wrist. He takes it gently, examining the bruise that is forming and the swelling. Slowly, he begins to rotate her hand around.

"Ouch," she cries, and pulls her arm back.

"Okay, Ms. Newberg," Hank explains, "Either you have a bad sprain, or a fracture, but we won't know until we take an X-ray."

"If it's broken, will it require surgery?" she asks, worried.

"Only if it's really bad," Hank assures her, "But just looking at it from here, I think we can treat it without taking drastic measures."

"Well, good. I don't want any scars."

Hank exchanges a knowing look and mutual sigh with Divya, and they both head out to her car to get the X-ray machine.


	6. Part 6

_**Part 6**_

**A/N: **So I'm on a full-out mission to find the answer to this hits/visitors question now. I put a thread on the support forum, obviously asked on here previously, and even added it as a poll on my profile. I shall succeed in finding the answer, and when I do, I shall post it so that all may be enlightened!

Oh, and thanks to Meatball42, stargatemagic, ShadowWolfDagger, Synner23, RascalFlattsS, Krayla Pipher, and Conill for the multiple reviews. I heart you guys!

How many of you did I fool w/ Evan's little prank, anyway? Were you scared for a second there? I bet you were. ;)

* * *

Evan is sitting at the dining room table going through paperwork and crunching numbers on a calculator. He leans his head in one hand and taps the table with the pencil a few times as he pensively stares at the results. "There it is," he mumbles, erasing whatever mistake he had found. He flips the pencil over to write in the correct number when another drop of blood takes up the erased space.

"Ah, man, are you serious?" he asks angrily, throwing the pencil down and rushing back to the kitchen to grab yet another rag. As he puts it to his nose, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and flips to Hank's name. He is just about to make the call when he stops, his thumb hovering over the button. He looks up, eyes flitting back and forth a few times in debate, before he purses his lips together and takes in a deep breath. Flipping his phone shut again, he shoves it back into his pocket and sighs while he pinches the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Divya is sitting with Ms. Newberg, holding an ice pack to her wrist as Hank holds up the X-rays to the light. "Looks like good news," he tells her, "It's not broken."

"Oh, what a relief," she smiles, "So what will the treatment be, doctor?"

"Well, it's still a pretty bad sprain, so we'll have to put you in a wrist splint for about a week. When that comes off, we can go over some treatment techniques you can perform by yourself, and in the meantime, I can prescribe some medication for the pain."

"Thank you, Hank," she says, reaching out her hands to grasp his in a grateful gesture; but as she does, she winces in pain and quickly brings a hand back down to her left side.

Divya looks concerned and asks, "I thought you said you had no other injuries?"

"It's just a bruise, I'm sure," Ms. Newberg answers, but Hank and Divya look a little skeptical.

"Let me see it," Hank says, squatting down in front of her as Divya slides over.

Reluctantly, Ms. Newberg lifts her blouse to reveal a massive, red and purple bruise covering her lower left side. Hank looks up and makes eye contact with her for a second, then gently begins to probe the area with the flat of one hand. He barely pushes in when she hisses in pain. He glances at Divya before speaking to her.

"Ms. Newberg, we need to get you to the hospital right away," he demands.

"It's a bruise – it hurts when you press on it," she says, trying to brush it off.

Hank shakes his head. "Listen to me – you must've taken some organ damage in the fall. I think you're bleeding internally, and I can't treat that with what I have here. If we don't get you to a hospital, you could die."

"Will I have to have surgery?" she asks, looking from Hank to Divya and back again.

"Unfortunately, yes," Hank tells her.

She nods quietly, then looks at Hank with pleading, but determined eyes. "I want you to come to the hospital with me, then. Someone needs to be there to make sure they're doing it right and I trust you."

"Then I'll stay all the way through your surgery," he smiles, then holds out his arm to her, "Shall we?"

She grabs his arm and Hank and Divya help her to her feet, guiding her to their car.

* * *

Evan paces back and forth in the kitchen, a thermometer hanging out of his mouth. He pulls it out and looks at it, swiping a hand across his forehead in a worried gesture as he reads the results.

"Not again," he mutters. He sets the thermometer in the sink, then glances down at his watch. "Where are you guys?" he asks impatiently before he is suddenly blessed with another stream of blood pouring from his nose. He pounds his fist on the counter before going for the rag drawer again, but before he can get the drawer open, he is wracked with a burning pain in his abdomen. He grips his stomach and doubles over, dropping down to his knees and gasping. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on breathing through the pain, forgetting about the nosebleed. Some of the blood drips into his mouth and he chokes on it, swallowing reflexively. Immediately, he gags on it, but clamps a hand over his mouth to fight back the nausea. He gets up and runs to the bathroom, still clutching his stomach, and just barely makes it to the toilet in time to eject both the blood and the morning's chicken soup. Hands shaking as he stands, he moves over to the sink to rinse off his face. He splashes the cool water on himself a few times, watching as the red water spirals down into the drain, before looking up into the mirror where he notices a thin red line forming across the lower lid of his left eye. As he leans forward to look closer, the line grows thicker, creating a red pool in the corner of his eye until it finally spills over, leaving a trail of crimson running down his cheek.

"Oh sweet mother of God!" he cries, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Just as he flips it open, another searing bolt of pain shoots through him, and he drops the phone as he crumbles to the floor. Gritting his teeth against the fire in his stomach, he reaches out for the phone, fails his first attempt, then drags himself forward just enough to reach it the second time. He pauses just for a second before dialing, then waits for the other line to pick up.

"Hello, 9-1-1 Emergency," the girl on the other end says.

"Hi, yeah," Evan grunts out, "My name's Evan Lawson. I need an ambulance."

* * *

Hank walks out to the waiting room of the hospital where Divya is sitting.

"How is she?" she asks as he approaches.

"She'll probably still be in surgery for another hour, but they tell me she should recover just fine."

"Aren't you supposed to be in there 'monitoring?'"

"Heh, that's what she's going to _think_ I was doing when she wakes up. In truth, they kicked me out - said it was too crowded."

"But they agreed to play along?" she smirks.

"They said they're willing to do anything to keep Ms. Newberg happy…and quiet," he grins.

"And glad to release her back into your care as soon as possible, I take it?"

"Absolutely."

Jill suddenly rushes out of the emergency hallway, glancing around the waiting room until she locks onto Hank. He sees the panicked look on her face and he rushes to meet her halfway.

"What happened? Is she having a reaction to the anesthesia?" he asks.

"No, Hank, listen to me, it's not Ms. Newberg."

He turns his head to one side, a confused look crossing his features.

"Hank, it's Evan. He was just rushed into the ER with moderate hemorrhaging and a high fever."

"What? Hemorrhaging? But, his fever was pretty much gone this morning," Hank says, somewhat in shock.

"Gone? How long has been sick for?" Jill asks.

Hank doesn't seem to hear the question. "I shouldn't have left him alone…Why didn't he call me?"

Jill places a hand on his arm. "Hank, I need you to tell me everything you know."

Divya steps forward. "I can give you the details," she offers, "Can we see him?"

By the look on Jill's face, Hank can tell that she's about to tell them no, so he doesn't give her the chance. He pushes past her and rushes into the hall where she came from, searching the rooms until he spots his brother lying on a bed surrounded by hospital staff. He moves closer, then stops when he sees the blood smeared all over Evan's face. Coming to his senses again, he pushes past a nurse so he can stand by his brother's side.

"Evan? Evan, can you hear me?"

"I don't think my ears are bleeding," Evan mutters, "How's your patient?"

"How's my-? Why are even worried about that?"

"Didn't want to pull you away from a client," he takes a second to cough, "Trying not to think about just myself, right?"

Hank jerks back as if he's been slapped. A nurse pulls annoyingly at his arm and he shakes her off. "Is that why you didn't call me?" He doesn't answer. "Evan?"

"Sir, you can't be in here," the annoying nurse insists, pulling on him more. A second nurse joins in to help when Evan suddenly props himself on one elbow, twisting his body to the side. He begins throwing up again, but this time it's coming out in a thick, black sludge. Hank stops struggling, watching on in complete shock.

"Hank," Jill says softly from behind him. "Come on, Hank, let them help him."

He doesn't fight her as she slowly pulls him backwards out into the hall, his eyes staying locked on his brother.


	7. Part 7

_**Part 7**_

**A/N: **I got a few responses to my question! So I guess hits are how many times people click on your story and visitors are the actual number of different people that look at it. Seems a little odd to me, still. That would mean that last Thursday, each person would have had to hit my page four times to get that many hits, which is, in itself, improbable that the statistics would work out that way. It would basically be like maybe one person hit it like seven times, another three, and so on and so fourth…Who would hit the same story more than twice in a day? I don't know, but that's the explanation I got so there ya go, unless someone has anything else to offer otherwise. :)

* * *

Jill drags a very zombie-like Hank back to her office where Divya is waiting. As soon as they enter, she stands, her features creased with worry and questions.

"How is he?" she asks.

Hank answers without looking at her, keeping his glazed-over eyes staring ahead at nothing. "Vomiting blood…" He then adds to himself, "What did I miss?"

"Exactly, Hank," Jill says, "Do you remember anything unusual, anything at all outside of the normal flu symptoms?"

He continues looking straight ahead, furling his eyebrows as he loses himself in thought. Jill cups his face with her hands, turning his head so he has to look at her. "Go over it with me, Hank," she instructs as a teacher would a young child, "Walk me through it again. Tell me everything."

He blinks a few times before his eyes actually focus on her and he comes to his senses. Taking a step back, he puts a hand up to his forehead as he thinks out loud. "I don't know – he started off a little fatigued, feverish…that was followed quickly with the nausea," he begins to pace around the room.

"Keep going, Hank," Jill encourages.

"Um, he was feeling hot, of course - I know he was experiencing chills, too, since he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether he wanted the blankets on or off…They were just normal flu symptoms. I'm sure Divya already told you all this."

"It doesn't matter," Jill says, "Just keep listing them. There has to be some small thing that'll help us figure out what's wrong with him."

Hank gives Divya a "help me" look, so she chimes in, "He couldn't keep down any liquids, so we put him on a standard I.V. drip. His breathing was normal, his heart rate was what you'd expect from a high fever-"

"Wait," Hank interjects, "His heart rate…"

"What about it, Hank?" Jill asks.

"It was high, before, like normal…but back there, I glanced at his vitals for just a second – didn't think anything of it at the time."

Divya looks impatient. "Hank, get to the point," she demands.

"His heart rate is slow, now. It's slow, even though his fever's back, which is backwards – it should be just as high as it was before."

"So, what does that mean?" Divya asks.

Hank thinks for a second before he looks back up at them in alarm. "The nosebleed," he says, "Oh, God, please don't let it be what I think it is."

He turns and throws the door open again, rushing back towards Evan's room. Divya and Jill look at each other, then follow right on his heels.

"Hank, what is it?" Divya asks.

"I want to be sure," is the only answer he gives.

When they get into the room, they see that most of the nursing staff has cleared out, leaving only one nurse and a doctor to monitor Evan. His face is now cleaned of the blood and he appears to be sleeping peacefully. The doctor looks up as the three of them enter.

"You can't be-" he starts to say, but Jill cuts him off.

"It's okay, they have my permission to be here," she tells him.

Hank leans over his brother. "You sedated him," he states, a touch of anger in his voice.

"He started to panic," the doctor explains, "We were unable to continue with treatment without the sedation."

"You should have called me back here," Hank says, voice rising, "_I_ could've calmed him down." Without asking, he reaches over and snags the pen light out of the doctor's pocket. Gently, he pulls open one of Evan's eyelids and shines the light in his eye.

"Hank, will you please tell us what you're looking for?" Divya asks.

"Signs of jaundice," he answers, pulling the light away, "He isn't there yet."

Jill steps forward, "Jaundice? And what do you mean by 'yet?'"

"Think, Jill, think about his symptoms. A fever for three days, followed by a short period of remission, bleeding from the nose and eyes, black vomit, the slow heart rate, and look here," he points to some bruises that have formed on Evan's wrists and upper arms, "Unless your staff is overly rough with their patients, he's bruising too easily."

"And now you suspect jaundice?" a male voice says from the doorway.

Hank looks up. "Charlie - of course, you'd be the expert on this. Please tell me I'm wrong," he nearly begs.

Charlie steps into the room, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't, Hank, I've seen it too many times before."

"Will someone fill in the blanks for me, please?" Divya demands.

"Evan seems to have somehow contracted yellow fever," Charlie informs her, "and if we don't find out how, and fast, we could be looking at an epidemic all across the Hamptons."

* * *

Hank taps his finger nervously on Jill's desk as he holds his phone to his ear, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. Finally, he hears a click, then a "Hello?"

"Oh, Mr. Brinkley, thank God," Hank breathes out, his whole body relaxing, "How are you feeling?"

"Dr. Lawson?" Mr. Brinkley asks, and Hank confirms that it's him. "Oh, yes, I'm fine thanks to you. Why? Or is this just a routine follow-up call?"

"Mr. Brinkley, this is very, very important. I need to know if you've been traveling recently, particularly to Africa or South America."

"No, no traveling. I'm happy right here in my home. Why do you ask?"

Hank ignores the question for the time being. "Have you been around anyone that's traveled recently to those areas?"

"Dr. Lawson, what exactly is this about?" Mr. Brinkley asks.

Hank takes a breath. "Mr. Brinkley, I believe I misdiagnosed your symptoms. A…situation has come up that leads me to believe that you may have experienced the first stage of a disease called yellow fever, which is virtually extinct in the U.S., so I need to know where you may have gotten it from."

"The first stage? Will I get sick again?" he asks, sounding worried.

"No, the third stage comes very quickly after a remission – you would have been very sick by now if the disease had progressed."

"Very sick? How sick? What would have happened?"

Hank looks frustrated, and has to fight to keep that out of his voice. "Please, Mr. Brinkley, that isn't relevant - can you please just answer my question?"

"Isn't relevant? Now I don't mean any disrespect, but you say you misdiagnosed me and I would very much like to know what might have happened had I entered this third stage. What could I have been facing?"

"…In the advanced stage of the disease, the virus begins attacking your whole system internally. It inhibits your body's ability to clot blood, may lead to cardiac arrhythmia, shut down your liver and kidney function, and…" Hank looks down, moisture building in his eyes.

"Dr. Lawson? Are you still there?"

Jill puts her hand on his shoulder. "You want me to finish the call?" she whispers.

He shakes his head, swallowing back the tears. "Yeah, yes, I'm still here," he continues. "Uh, anywhere roughly between ten and fourteen days after you start experiencing symptoms of this toxic stage, one of two things happens."

"What is that?" Mr. Brinkley pushes when Hank is silent for another few seconds.

Hank takes another deep breath before speaking again. "You either recover, or you fall into a short coma and then you die."

"…and what are the odds of survival?"

Hank practically chokes on the next words, "Fifty percent. There's a fifty percent survival rate once you reach the toxic phase." Unable to hold back the tears anymore, Hank brings his hand up to his face. Divya rushes forward and grabs the phone out of his other hand while Jill comforts him.

"Mr. Brinkley, this is Divya Katdare-"

"Let me guess, the lawyer? You just let your client admit that his misdiagnosis might have resulted in my death. What do you suggest we do about that?"

Divya purses her lips in anger before continuing. "I am not his lawyer, I'm his physician's assistant, and he didn't have to tell you about the misdiagnosis if he didn't want to – he could have let you continue to think that you just had the flu, which is what any doctor would have diagnosed you with had they been in Hank's position. The only reason we discovered the mistake is because now his brother, after visiting your residence, has also come down with the disease. Once he figured it out, Hank's first concern was to call you to make sure you were all right, and second to try to prevent the disease from spreading further than it may already have. Now, what I suggest _you_ do is to answer his questions before more people get sick."

There is a long pause on the other line. "…Evan's sick?" is all he says when he finally speaks again,

"Very."

Another pause. "…My son, he likes to travel. He sends me souvenirs from all over the world. The last one – it was a walking stick from Sierra Leone, a skull with snakes crossing down the shaft."

Divya looks up at Charlie, who has been standing quietly out of the way. "He says his son sent him a walking stick from Sierra Leone," she tells him.

"There's been a recent outbreak of yellow fever in Guinea," Charlie informs them, "Is the stick hollow?"

Divya repeats to Mr. Brinkley the question, to which he responds, "No, not the whole stick. The eyes on the skull are hollowed out. Why?"

"Because the disease is transferred through mosquito bite," she tells him, "and a hollowed-out skull would be a very likely place for a mosquito to hide."

"Here, hand me the phone," Charlie requests, and Divya does so.

"Mr. Brinkley, my name's Charlie and I'm a doctor here at Hampton Heritage. There are a few things I'm going to need you to do for me." He waits until he gets confirmation from the other end before continuing. "Okay, first, I need you to make a list of anyone who's been at or near your residence since you received the walking stick and send that list to me. Second, make certain to cancel any plans with any potential house guests until I give you the okay that it's safe to have people over again. And third, I'm going to personally call in a special extermination team to clear your property and the area surrounding it of all mosquitoes. Are you clear on those things?"

"Yes, I understand. And I'll be sure to inform you if anyone I know begins to show flu-like symptoms."

"Great, I'd appreciate that, thanks."

"…May I speak to Dr. Lawson again?" Mr. Brinkley asks hesitantly.

Charlie looks at Hank, who seems to have calmed down and is regaining his composure. "He wants to talk to you again."

Hank nods and reaches for the phone. "Hey, it's me," he answers.

"Dr. Lawson – Hank – I'm sorry about Evan. He's a good kid, a bit unfocused, but a good kid all the same. I hope he gets better, and I sincerely mean that. I'll be praying for his recovery."

"Thank you, Mr. Brinkley, that means a lot to me. And you have no idea what that'll mean to him."

"Will you let me know, whatever happens?"

"Yeah, I'll let you know."

They say their goodbyes and Hank hangs up, looking suddenly very tired. Charlie gives him an apologetic look before speaking.

"Hank, I need some information from you, too," he says, and Hank waits for the question. "I need to know where Evan's been since he got sick so we can contain this as much as possible."

"We went to a football game, Charlie," Hank says, shaking his head, "At a stadium with thousands of people attending."

"Well, that is _not_ good news," Charlie states the obvious as he exchanges worried looks with the other three people in the room.

* * *

**A/N: **And there you have it – the dreaded information chapter. Not the most exciting, but at least you know what Evan has now. And how do you like them 50/50 odds, huh? I know, I know, I'm a big padoodie-head.


	8. Part 8

_**Part 8**_

**A/N: **I know, I know, I took a little longer on this update. Yes, I do have a life on the weekends sometimes, you know! Anyway, here's a new one for ya so cliffie karma stops attacking me. :)

* * *

Divya hangs up her phone with a "thank you very much" to the person on the other line before she turns to Charlie.

"So what's the verdict?" he asks.

"I've got a list of everyone who set foot on or near Mr. Brinkley's property to the best of his memory, and he took the liberty to call around asking if anyone has experienced the symptoms."

"And?"

"Well, the good news is, no one that he was able to reach has gotten sick. The bad news is, of course, that there are a few people he couldn't contact, such as the postman and a door-to-door sales representative for Avon."

"It's a good start, at least," Charlie says, shrugging one shoulder.

Hank and Jill, who had been outside of the office, step back inside. Charlie sees the look of failure on their faces and offers a sympathetic grin.

"No luck, huh?" he asks.

"There's just no way," Hank tells him. "They didn't even _keep_ a record of names for anyone that paid in cash."

"And a lot of people that paid with check or credit were buying the tickets as gifts," Jill adds.

Charlie scratches his head, thinking about what to do next. "I really don't want to make a public announcement if we can avoid it," he says, "It'll be like swine flu all over again – everyone with even a case of the sniffles will be coming through our doors in a panic."

"But what else can we do?" Divya asks, "It's tourist season _and_ mosquito season - this could become an epidemic in no time if we just allow infected people to roam around out there."

There is a soft knock on the door and when Jill answers it, the young nurse who had been in the room with Evan is standing outside.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," she starts.

"No, it's okay," Jill tells her, "Do you need something?"

She peeks inside the door and looks at Hank. "I just wanted to tell Dr. Hank that his brother's awake."

Hank looks at Jill by way of asking, and she nods her head. "Of course, go ahead," she barely gets out as Hank rushes past her. She reaches out to touch his arm, but in his haste, she doesn't quite catch him. Charlie turns away when he sees the look of both worry and longing that briefly crosses her face as she pulls her hand back. He pretends not to have noticed when she looks back at him.

"So what do we do, now?" she asks him.

"How 'bout we focus on tracking down the names of Mr. Brinkley's unknowns, first, and we'll go from there," Charlie suggests.

"And the stadium guests?" Jill pushes.

"We'll figure something out," he says with a reassuring grin.

Jill doesn't look convinced. "I hope so," she says, half to herself as she hugs her arms to her body.

* * *

Hank steps quietly into the room, his mouth spreading into a smile as Evan opens his eyes to look at him. Evan returns the smile.

"You didn't answer my question," is the first thing he says to Hank.

"What question?" Hank asks, pulling the chair away from the wall and setting it next to the bed.

"I asked how your patient was," Evan reminds him.

"Evan-"

"As CFO of Hank Med, I think it's important for me to know if our patients come out of your care alive," Evan smiles again.

Hank lowers himself into the chair and leans his elbows on the bed. "It was Ms. Newburg. She fell and sprained her wrist, and while I was treating _that_, we discovered she had some internal bleeding. I was here monitoring her surgery when you were brought in."

"So how is she?" Evan asks again.

Hank hesitates. "…She was doing fine last I checked. Honestly, I haven't really looked into it since-"

"Go check on her, Hank. She's a client – a very important one," Evan orders.

"No, Evan, I'm sure someone would have told me if there was a problem. She'll be fine."

"Like _I_ was fine?" Evan asks.

Hank opens his mouth to speak, but is lost for words and looks away from his brother. Evan shakes his head apologetically.

"Sorry – it's not your fault," he tells Hank, then quickly changes the subject. "That nurse that was in here earlier? Get this - she told me that only like fifteen percent of the people that get yellow fever get to the point where I'm at. Lucky me, right? It's gotta be a curse."

Hank looks a little surprised. "So she told you what was going on?"

Evan nods. "Yeah, I figured you might have enough to worry about without being the one to have to deliver my prognosis…I knew it'd be bad. I pretty much threw up like an intestine earlier, after all."

Evan laughs a little, but Hank just looks more worried before he speaks.

"Evan…did she tell you-"

"I know the odds, Hank," Evan nods, then leans towards Hank a little. "I'll be okay. Now go check on Ms. Newburg."

He pats Hank's hand with a little smile and Hank, after closing his eyes against yet more tears, nods his head. He stands and starts heading towards the door, stopping in the doorway.

"I broke my promise to you," he tells Evan, back still turned, "I promised you the worst was over."

"…Okay, so, make me a new promise to cancel out the last one."

Hank turns back to look at Evan. "Yeah? What do you want?"

Evan gives Hank an evil little grin and Hank starts shaking his head. "Oh, no, Evan, not that."

"Oh, yes, Henry. You owe me one. Come on, I need a little extra incentive to boost the odds in my favor."

Hank hangs his head, then nods it, looking back up. "Okay, yeah," he says with a sigh.

"Yes? Really? 'Cause you know I'm not so far gone, yet, where I won't remember you said that."

Hank laughs a little. "Yes, really. I promise, Evan."

Evan throws his hands up. "Well, all right. See, now this is totally gonna be one of those power-of-the-mind-over-body things. I have no choice but to get better."

"Is that a promise?" Hank asks.

"Yeah, Hank. It's a promise. Now get outta here."

Hank smiles, nods, and turns to leave the room.

* * *

Divya walks slowly down the hall until she reaches Evan's room, where she stops outside the door. Taking in a breath, she plasters on a smile and steps inside where she sees Evan laying with one arm crossed over his eyes. He appears to be sleeping until she sees his chest rise sharply with a few quick intakes of air.

"Evan?" she asks tentatively.

Startled, he quickly pulls his arm away and wipes at his eyes. "Oh, hey, Divs," he says, failing at sounding perky.

"Should I get Hank?" she asks.

"No!" Evan nearly shouts, causing her to flinch. "No – sorry – it's just…Hank's sort of…fragile. If he thinks I can't handle this, he'll fall apart blaming himself."

Divya takes a few steps closer. "Can you?" she asks.

"Can I what?"

"Handle this."

Evan looks down for a few seconds and when he looks back up at her, he doesn't try to hide the slightly pink-tinted tear running down his cheek.

"I'm scared, Divya," he admits, then gives her a tiny grin, adverting his eyes again. "Not very manly, I know."

She sits in the chair Hank left by the bed, putting her hand under his chin to tilt his face back up so he was looking at her. Using her slender thumb, she swipes the tear off his face.

"I'd be more upset if you _weren't_ scared," she tells him. "That tells me you know how serious this is and you're taking it as such." She smiles at him, "But if you want to show me how manly you are, then I'd suggest you fight through this."

"Ha, yeah," Evan nods, "That is definitely the plan."

He reaches up and grips her hand, smiling at her. She grips back, returning the smile.

* * *

As Hank walks down the hall, he suddenly stops when he sees the doctor who was previously treating Evan. Angrily, he makes his way over to him.

"Why did my brother have to hear about his condition from a nurse?" he demands as he walks.

"Dr. Lawson, I assure you that I had every intention-"

"Had every intention? You're not supposed to have _intentions_ to tell your patients bad news – you're supposed to _do_ it. What kind of doctor puts that on their nurse?"

"I didn't put it on her," the doctor explains, annoyed. "Your brother did. I went in with her to tell him but he didn't want to hear it from me – told me I was fired."

Hank takes a step back. "He – what? – he fired you?"

"Yes, Dr. Lawson. He apparently didn't take too kindly to the sedation. When I tried to reason with him he simply stuck his fingers in his ears and began to incessantly hum 'It's a Small World.' Damn song's been stuck in my head ever since."

Nodding knowingly, Hank can't keep the grin off his face. "And he kept going until you left, right?"

"Yes, and I haven't gotten around to finding a replacement physician for him yet since he's obviously refusing _my_ care."

"That's okay," Hank says, "I know who I want treating my brother."

"Dr. Lawson, you're not an employee at our hospital-"

"I didn't say it would be me," Hank shakes his head, and starts walking away. "And sorry about getting in your face."

He makes his way down the hall a little further before locating the room he wants. He knocks on the door, and as he steps in, he immediately begins to explain. "Hi, Ms. Newburg. Sorry I wasn't here when you got out of surgery, but there's been an incident with my brother…"


	9. Part 9

_**Part 9**_

**A/N: **I want to give a special thanks to Bloody Koalas (two authors under one account that write strictly _House M.D._ fics for now – check them out if you're a fan!). While I have several "regulars" that read and review after every chapter, Bloody Koalas read the entirety of my fic just yesterday and took the time out to review after each chapter. I have a tendency to wait and review after I've read the story up to the most current chapter, so I think that it's great for a reader to be willing to go that extra mile. Thank you so so much, and _House_ fans, read and review their work!

* * *

"Please, Charlie," Hank begs as he follows Charlie down the hall. "Don't punish my brother just because we have some…differences."

Charlie stops walking and turns towards Hank, a smirk of disbelief on his face. "Wow, she must have sad some bad things about me."

"They weren't exactly good, no," Hank shrugs. Charlie turns and keeps walking as he talks.

"Despite what you may think, this has nothing to do with our 'differences.' One of the reasons I came home was for Jill – you know that – and the other was because I was done treating typhoid fever and malaria _and _yellow fever and all the other diseases that only seem to plague third-world countries. I came back to get away from all that."

"But you're the only one in the hospital – probably in the whole state – who's actually treated yellow fever. Everyone else, including me, can only go by what we read in textbooks and case files. I want someone that can respond quickly to any scenario."

"And in half those scenarios, the patients still died, no matter what I did. I don't want to see another person die from yellow fever, ever again."

Hank grabs Charlie's arm and violently whips him around. "My brother is _not_ going to die," he hisses in Charlie's face, still gripping tightly onto his arm.

"Right…that probably wasn't the best choice of words. Sorry."

He looks down at Hank's hand, and Hank quickly releases him. He begins to walk away again when Hank calls out.

"If you treat Evan, I'll back off," Hank calls quietly.

"Back off what?" Charlie asks, turning back.

"Jill – I'll stay out of your way when it comes to Jill. Please, Charlie, I just need you to get Evan through this."

Charlie looks at Hank, mulling over the offer.

* * *

"Yes, you are, Evan," Divya argues.

"No, I can stay up a little longer," he says, voice laced with fatigue.

"Evan, you need to sleep, and I'm supposed to be helping Jill, anyway."

"Yeah? Help her with what?"

Divya crosses her arms. "You're stalling."

"So. Humor me."

"Fine, but just for a little longer. We have to track down anyone else who may have been exposed to the disease, meaning that aside from any guests to Mr. Brinkley's home, we're trying to devise a way to locate the names and numbers of a few thousand people who may have attended a certain football game."

Evan looks confused. "Why? None of them were exposed."

"But you were there, Evan. Anyone who's been around you could potentially have the disease."

"I thought this only spread through mosquito bite."

"And, there were mosquitoes at the stadium, I'm sure…" she looks at him questioningly. "Do you know something I should?"

He smiles. "I know something you probably _shouldn't_ know because you'll call me an idiot, but in this case, it seems relevant. What I know that you don't is that I _hate_ mosquito bites."

"Well, no one _likes_ them, Evan."

"Yeah - no, what I mean is that I hate them so much that I never got over doing that thing where you scratch the bite until it scabs over."

"Evan! You could get an infection that way, not to mention it could scar," she scolds.

"I know, I know, Hanks says that all the time. I don't care – it makes it stop itching. Anyway, that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is this." He bends up his arm to show her a fading scar just above his elbow. Pointing at it, he says, "I've only got _one_ of these."

Divya thinks for a second before the realization sets in, "…meaning, you only had the one bite."

"Right, so unless that same mosquito hitched a ride over to the stadium to set in motion some devious mosquito-vengeance plot against the Hamptons, I think it's safe to say that everyone in the stadium is safe."

"Evan, you're a genius," Divya smiles, standing up, "I have to go tell Jill." She rushes towards the door, turns and orders, "And go to sleep," before she's gone.

"Halfway there," Evan mumbles as he closes his eyes.

* * *

"Ugh, why didn't we think of that earlier?" Jill asks from where she's seated at her desk.

Divya, seated at the desk across from her, curls up one corner of her lip. "Because we're smart and smart people have a tendency to over think things sometimes."

"And Evan isn't smart?"

Divya cocks her head to one side. "It's not that he isn't smart – it's just that he _chooses_ to think less-than-average at times…most times, actually. Fortunately for us, it also gives him an uncanny ability to point out the obvious."

The girls laugh, and Charlie walks into the office, a smile growing on his face as he looks at them. "The joke wasn't at my expense, was it?"

"No," Jill answers, "We just finally got a break, here. We don't have to worry about any of the stadium guests."

"That is such good news that I'm not even going to ask how you know that. Any luck on Mr. Brinkley's unknowns?"

"Yep," She looks down at a notepad on her desk, "The Avon rep is clean, there was a newspaper boy who also seems fine, and the landscaper is healthy. The only person I can't get a hold of is the postman."

"Then it could still be a problem. The exterminators are taking care of Mr. Brinkley's house tomorrow morning, asap, but this thing isn't over until everyone is accounted for. You have to find him, Jill."

"I know, Charlie, I will."

Divya looks past Charlie to get a view of the door, then looks down at her watch. "Where's Hank?" she asks.

"He's, uh, he's back with Evan. He wanted me to let you guys know that he's staying the night, but everyone else should go home and get some rest."

"Oh, I'll just go say goodnight, then," Jill says as she stands.

"I…don't really think that's a good idea," Charlie tells her, and she looks at him crossly. "He – just wanted some alone time with his brother…alone."

"Oh…okay," Jill responds a bit skeptically.

Divya looks back and forth between the two of them before standing. "Well, I've still got some work to do, so I'll go ahead and head out. If anything happens-"

"The staff knows you're on the must-call list," Charlie assures her. He waves at her as she heads out the door, then turns back to Jill. "I don't suppose you could give me a ride…?"

She rolls her eyes before answering. "Fine."

"Fine? What, no argument?"

"Charlie, it's been a long day, it's late, and I'm not in the mood. Plus…it's the least I can do for all your help today. Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet – unless you're prepared to be thanking me everyday for like the next two weeks...or not thanking me at all if he doesn't make it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? Hank just declared me Evan's new doctor."

* * *

Hank is leaning back in one chair, feet propped up on another as he watches his brother sleeping. He glances up at the heart monitor screen, frowning at the slow pace of the rhythmic beeping. Placing one hand on Evan's arm, he leans across the bed slightly to speak into his brother's ear.

"Evan?" he asks quietly, confirming that Evan is truly asleep before he continues, "I know…I know I'm sometimes a little…hard on you, but you do have a knack for, well, screwing things up." He takes a deep breath. "Despite that, you also seem to always know _exactly_ when, um, when I need you – which is something I was never really good at reciprocating-"

Evan's next breath is suddenly cut short, and his eyes snap open as he tries to take in a full breath but fails. Blood begins to seep out from around the oxygen tubes in his nose as he struggles for air.

"I need help in here!" Hank yells, jumping to his feet. He rips the oxygen tube out and gets his arm around Evan's back, forcing him up into a sitting position. "Come on, cough it up, Evan," he coaxes, "Cough it up."

Evan nods slightly and tries to expel the blood from his airway, but nothing happens. Reflexively, he tries to breathe in again, only succeeding in drawing the blood further down to his lungs. He glances up at Hank, panic in his eyes, before they begin to roll back into his head.

"No, no, no, NO!" Hank shouts, "Spit it out, Evan!"

Nurses rush into the room as Evan slowly starts to slump forward in Hank's arms.

* * *

**A/N: **Mwa ha ha ha! Come and get me Cliffie Karma! I fear you not!...what I don't like is that I have to wait all the way 'til next summer to find out what actually happens in the show. Season finale days are the saddest days ever. :(


	10. Part 10

_**Part 10**_

**A/N: **Kinda left ya'll hangin' there, didn't I? Sorry – just had a really busy couple weeks! So, I had a couple people ask about the title. Obviously, the "yellow" is yellow fever, "green" I used as looking sickly, and in fact, Divya actually said back in Part 4, I think, that Evan looked a little green around the gills. As for the "blue," that generally does mean sad as Meatball42 correctly assumed. However, I like the use of colors in story so I'm sure if you pay attention, you'll find more references throughout that mention the titled colors…

* * *

_"Please,_ Evan!" Hank cries as his brother slowly slumps forward in his arms. He tightens his grip around Evan's chest to prevent him crumpling over further when suddenly Evan's whole body goes rigid. Another second later, more black vomit comes spewing from his mouth to soak the bedding on his lap. Snapped back into consciousness, he sucks in a sputtering breath before heaving up even more bloody bile. Relieved, Hank continues to brace Evan with one arm and gently lays his free hand on Evan's back.

"That's it, let it all out," he coaxes as Evan begins to regain control over his gag reflex and his breathing. A nurse taps Hank on the shoulder.

"Sir, if we could get in-"

"No!" Evan chokes out, then more calmly, "Please. Just, let him stay."

"But, Mr. Lawson, we need to check you over, and clean your bedding," the nurse protests.

Hank, still with one hand on Evan's back, steps away just a little. "You can do that with me standing here."

Evan and Hank both look at the nurse, the same pleading gaze in their eyes, and the nurse finally gives in. "Oh, fine – keep an eye on his vitals while you're at it, Dr. Hank."

"Way ahead of you," he says before turning his attention back to Evan. He grabs a wet wipe off the table by the bed and carefully cleans the blood off of Evan's face. "Looks like your nose stopped bleeding. Here, let's get your oxygen tube back in…" He reaches for the tube and begins to move it back towards Evan's nose.

Evan weakly pushes Hank's hands away. "I'm okay, I don't need it."

"Your face was turning blue - you need it. And you're not okay. I can feel you shaking." He fits the tube back into Evan's nostrils, who doesn't bother putting up any more of a fight.

"I'm not shaky because I'm scared or anything, you know," he mumbles, "My body's just tired from all the choking and the puking. Can I lay back down, now?" He flicks his eyes back up at Hank, who is still bracing him up in a sitting position. Hank nods, easing Evan back down against the pillows as he raises the angle of the bed up a little steeper.

"This isn't going to be as comfortable, but it should help keep you from choking again," he explains.

"It's fine - I'm so tired right now I could fall asleep on a rock," Evan mutters, letting his eyes fall shut. He lets out a shaky breath as the nurses finish replacing his blankets and, satisfied that he's out of danger, leave him in Hank's care. As Hank steps back to push the chairs back against the bedside, Evan's eyes snap back open, his body only relaxing again when he sees what Hank is doing. "You are planning on sticking around, right? I mean, just in case…" He can't seem to find the words to finish the sentence, and looks away sheepishly.

Hank settles back into his chair and pats Evan's arm. "I'll be right here keeping an eye on you. Just get some sleep, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Evan nods, breathing out a wavering sigh as he allows himself to relax into sleep, once again.

* * *

"Knock, knock," Charlie says as he raps lightly on the doorframe.

Hank sleepily looks up, eyes a little bloodshot.

"Ooh," Charlie cringes, "Didn't sleep, huh? I heard you had a little trouble with the patient last night?"

Hank wipes a hand over his face. "It was stupid - I should have thought about the possibility of choking sooner. If I hadn't been here…"

"The machines would have alerted the staff and someone would have still come running in to take care of it," Charlie reminds him. "Besides, I shouldn't have to tell you how quickly the body tends to expel liquids from the lungs…barring being submersed under water for long periods of time, of course."

"He was losing consciousness," Hank points out.

"But you didn't have to administer CPR. He threw it up, right?"

Hank looks away, nodding his head, "Yes, he threw it up."

Charlie slaps him on the back. "Then there you go – nothing to go blaming yourself for."

Evan stirs in the bed, and eyes still closed, asks quietly, "Blame yourself for what?"

Hank smiles a tiny bit. "Nothing. How do you feel?"

"Why do people even bother asking that question? I mean, I could _say_ better, but I think you'd know I would just be telling you that to make _you_ feel better." He opens his eyes and looks at Hank. "Or is that the point?"

Hank's smile suddenly falls away as he looks at Evan, then back up at Charlie. "Am I seeing that right?" he asks.

"What? What's wrong?" Evan asks.

Charlie moves around the other side of the bed and pulls out his pen light. "Way to be subtle, _Doctor,"_ he smarts off at Hank as he leans forward. "Evan, why don't you look over here for a sec."

"Who are you?" Evan asks, looking skeptically at Charlie.

"Well, since I hear you fired your last doctor, I'm his replacement. You can call me Charlie," he explains, shining the light briefly in Evan's eyes before looking back across the bed at Hank. "Just a little bit, but it's there," he confirms.

Evan looks back and forth from Hank to Charlie, and finally settles on Hank. "What's there?" he asks.

"There's a yellow pigment in your eyes," Hank explains slowly. "It's jaundice – a sign that the virus has reached your liver."

"Oh," is all Evan says for a second, then shrugs at Hank. "Well, I mean, it's not like we didn't see this coming, right? And your eyes look like crap, too, by the way."

Charlie smiles, "He's got a point there – you do kinda look like crap."

Evan frowns up at Charlie and pushes himself up a little more to a sitting position. "Whoa, now listen, Dr. – what was your name again?"

"Just call me Charlie."

"Right, Charlie, well when it comes to insulting my brother, I'm the only one who-" he cuts himself off and cocks his head a little to the side, "Wait, you're not _Jill's_ Charlie are you?"

"Uh, yeah, that would be me," Charlie nods.

Evan glances over at Hank. "Oh no, nope, not happenin'. You gotta find me someone else."

"Evan, there _is_ no one else," Hank explains, "He's the only doctor here who's treated yellow fever cases before. We're lucky to have him."

Evan leans towards Hank and drops his voice down to a low whisper, "But, Hank, what about-"

"Don't argue with me on this, Evan. I personally asked him for his help, and you _will_ cooperate with him, understand?"

"Hank-"

"Do you understand?" Hank asks again, a little more firm.

Evan nods, a little reluctantly, but the appreciative grin on Hank's face signals his satisfaction.

"…Okay..." Charlie says a bit awkwardly, "If you boys are done, I'd like to go ahead and conduct my examination, with your permission, of course."

"Sure, go ahead," Evan mumbles, "It'll at least give Hank a chance to grab some coffee or, better yet, take a nap or something."

"I'm not leaving," Hank shakes his head.

This time it's Evan turn to give Hank a hard look. "You're not gonna do me any good if you make yourself sick. Take a break – you said yourself I'm in the best hands, after all."

"I'll look after him, Hank" Charlie assures him.

Hank thinks for a second, then nods his head before slowly standing up. "I'll be back in a little bit," he tells Evan, "Behave yourself."

"Don't I always?" Evan says with an innocent grin, and Hank playfully rolls his eyes as he heads out of the room.

* * *

Hank stares at the black liquid in his cup with disgust.

"Fly in your coffee?" Divya asks, suddenly appearing at his side out of nowhere. Not expecting her, Hank jumps just a little and laughs.

"No, no fly. It's just, it's so dark…and black…and thick…"

Divya nods. "Ah, I see where this is going. I don't suppose I'd be able to drink it, either, after last night's incident." She crosses her arms and glares at Hank. "Which I didn't find out about until I got here ten minutes ago. Why, exactly, didn't anyone call me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Divya. It all just happened so fast, and when it was all over, it didn't really seem necessary to call you since he was out of the danger zone. I thought you could use some sleep."

Her tone softens. "You're the one who could use some sleep, Hank. You look like crap."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that…"

"And you're going to _keep_ hearing it until you rest. He's only in his second day out of what could be two weeks. You can't expect to continue like this for that long. The last thing Evan needs is for you to get sick, too."

Hank squints his eyes at her. "He said that to me, too, right after telling me I looked like crap."

"Evan and I having the exact same conversation with you? The world must be coming to an end."

Hank laughs. "Or it's the universe sending me a sign. Maybe I should listen and take that nap, after all."

"I think that'd be a good idea. I find the concept of me absently mimicking your brother to be rather disturbing."

They both laugh as Hank pours out his coffee.

* * *

Jill sits at her desk, phone pressed to her ear. She sighs when she hears an answering machine pick up. She waits for the beep before continuing.

"Hi, Mr. Wellham, this is Dr. Jill Casey from-"

A male voice cuts her off. "Sorry, sorry, I'm here. This is Frank Wellham. What can I do you for, doc?"

"Oh, hi, Mr. Wellham-"

"Frank."

"Right. Frank. Anyway, this may seem like an odd question, but-"

"Did the post office tell you to call me? I told them not to bother, told 'em I was fine."

Jill sits up in her chair. "Fine? Frank, have you been sick?"

"Yeah, just got me a little bit of a flu bug, is all. I'm just about over it now, though, so I don't need no doctor, thank you."

"Frank, I need you to listen me, and don't interrupt. You need to come down to Hampton's Heritage right away…"

* * *

**A/N:** And the plot thickens…Oh, and don't worry, I'm not planning on having a new chapter per each day Evan's sick – that'd take too long! The pacing will pick up here very soon…


	11. Part 11

**A/N: **Hellooooo old (and new!) readers! Sorry it's been so darn long – I took a lil season break, too, lol. I've been busy making some actual Hollywood contacts and, if I play my cards right, I may actually be getting a real writing gig of some form. But, anyway, decided to put my scripts aside to give you guys some much-deserved love. Thanks for your patience, and here we go!

* * *

Hank woke up a few hours later and went to visit his brother. To his surprise, he found the hospital room empty and the bed made. Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned to face a very dismayed-looking Charlie.

"I'm sorry, Hank, Evan didn't make it."

Hank sank down to his knees, spread his arms to the sky, and screamed, "EVANNNNNN!" a la Sly Stalone.

The End.

Ha ha, no, I'm just kidding. I only type this fic in present tense, remember? Lol Okay, now for the real thing. ;)

* * *

Hank rolls over in the bed, stretches, and looks at his watch. When he sees the time reading 11:22 pm, he jumps up and runs from the closet-sized room that serves as the temporary sleeping quarters for the on-call surgeons. He nearly runs into Jill as she makes her rounds.

"I've been asleep for over fifteen hours!" he shouts, gripping her arms. "Why didn't someone wake me?"

"Hank, you needed rest. You hadn't really slept at all for two days straight and you're stressed. I shouldn't have to tell you what that'll do to your body. "

"That doesn't matter!"

He squeezes harder and Jill flinches, causing him to let go. He turns away from her, running his hand down his face.

"I'm sorry. I just - Evan may only have another week to live, and now I've missed one of those days." He turns to look at her again. "I don't even want to miss a moment. If he dies-"

"He won't."

"If he dies," he says more sternly, "I want him to go out knowing that his brother spent every last possible minute caring about him."

He stares at her for a second, then moves past her towards Evan's room. She turns to him.

"You don't have to be by his side for him to know that, Hank. He wants what's best for you, too."

He ignores her and continues walking.

* * *

As Hank steps into Evan's room, he stops when he sees his sleeping brother and Divya passed out in the chair beside him. Quietly, he steps over to her and gently touches her shoulder. She looks up at him, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

"How is he?" Hank whispers.

"As good as he can be for now," she whispers back. "And you look better, too - much less zombie-like."

"Great," he says sarcastically, "That makes me feel much better about sleeping through the whole day."

"You needed it."

"So I've been told."

Evan stirs and opens his eyes a crack. "Hey, there's Sleeping Beauty," he grins.

"Evan, I am _so_ sorry," Hank replies.

"Nah, it's fine. The nurses wake me up every few hours, anyway."

Hank smiles. "You know that's not what I was apologizing for."

"What, you don't think waking up a sick man warrants an apology?"

"Evan."

Evan folds his arms. "Henry, I am not accepting an apology for you getting some sleep. There was no way I was gonna get better with you, looking all _Night of the Living Dead, _hovering over me._"_

Divya sits up. "And that is the second time Evan and I have had the same thought. I should go before he rubs off on me even more."

"You know you like it," Evan says as she heads to the door. She turns back with an eye roll, but also sporting a small smile.

Hank sits in the newly vacated chair. "So, how was your day?"

Evan shrugs. "Oh, pretty much uneventful. Threw up some more, took a nap, flirted with a nurse, apologized to said nurse after I threw up again. On her. And spent the rest of my day praying she wouldn't come back so I wouldn't have to hide my face in utter, painfully agonizing embarrassment."

"Exciting."

"Yeah. No. In other news, they brought in that postman and two other people that might be infected."

Hank sits forward in alarm. "What?"

"I know, right? Everyone's been on the phone all day trying to contact everyone on that dude's route, and then trying to contact anyone that _came_ in contact with the people they think might be infected."

"This is bad," Hank says, more to himself.

"Preachin' to the choir, my brotha. I, for one, do _not_ wish this on anyone," Evan turns inquisitively towards Hank. "Theoretically, if only a handful of people catch this, the fifteen percent odds of moving on to this final stage still stops with me, right?"

"In theory, yes," Hank frowns, "but-"

"No, no buts. I know you like to play the realist, but let's try some optimism on for size. Those other people will be fine. Say it with me."

"Those other people will be fine" Hank mutters, not at all enthusiastically.

* * *

As the morning hustle of the hospital staff begins filtering through the halls, Hank stretches before meandering out of the room. He spots Charlie shuffling from one room to another, charts in hand. Taking another quick glance at Evan to make sure he's still sleeping, Hank rushes to catch up with the busy doctor.

Charlie glances up at him. "Everything okay with Evan?"

"He's asleep. How are your other patients?"

"Well, I have one recovering from a ruptured spleen, one about to be prepped for cardiac surgery, and a kid with a broken wrist. Why the interest?"

Hank stops walking. "You aren't taking on the other yellow fever cases?"

Charlie stops, as well, and turns around. "I told you, Hank, I'm done with that. I took your brother on as a favor."

"No, you took my brother on because I made a deal with you." Charlies starts walking again, but Hank stops him. "You're really just going to ignore those other patients? They need a professional."

"How can I make this any clearer for you? There is no such thing is a 'professional' when it comes to yellow favor, Hank," Charlie snaps. "We treat the symptoms as they arrive and that's all we can do. I'm already helping to keep the disease contained as much as possible, and that's as far as I'm going with this. If you're so concerned about it, why don't you go be the doctor?"

Hank opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He swallows, and when he speaks, it's in soft tones. "I can't."

"Look, I'm sure Jill can pull a few strings if you want to help out."

"No, that's not it. I can't –" he looks up at Charlie "-I can't help because last night, while Evan was hoping he'd be the only one to progress this far into the disease, a part of _me_ was hoping that he wouldn't be. Some small part of _me_ was actually thinking it wouldn't be fair if Evan was the only one to die. What kind of doctor wishes for that on a patient?"

Charlie sighs and places a hand on Hank's arm. "You're not the doctor right now, Hank, you're the brother. It's okay to have those feelings."

Hank looks away. "What surprises me is that Evan _isn't_ having those feelings. He's the one who could die. He's not the one that supposed to be the bigger man right now."

"He's not the one who could be left behind."

Charlie gives Hank a final pat on the shoulder, then walks off to finish his rounds. Hank stands for a second, thinking, before slowly heading back to Evan's room. Leaning into the doorway, he allows a tear to fall down his face as he watches his brother sleep.

"Don't you dare leave me behind," he whispers, "Not like Mom. Not again."

* * *

**A/N: **Hmm…a lil shorter than my typical updates, I know, but I'm just getting warmed up again. I needed a little lead-in for what's to come…


	12. Part 12

**A/N**_**: **_I couldn't believe how much my site traffic shot up after the last chapter! Thank you so much you guys for the alerts and especially for the reviews. You deserved an update much sooner, but stupid real life gets in the way sometimes. Ah well, at least this one's comin' to ya faster than the last one!

Sorry about the fake-out death, by the way – I couldn't help it. I thought, "Wouldn't that be so messed up if after all this time, I brought the story back just long enough to kill off Evan?" lol, you guys were so mad! Made me laugh.

Anyway, hope you enjoy, and thanks for stickin' with me!

* * *

Hank frowns as we watches the number reading Evan's heart rate drop by one. He looks down at the slightly yellowish tint his brother's skin has taken on and takes a second to pull the blanket up higher over the sleeping man's chest. He's startled when a nurse out in the hallway yells out unexpectedly.

"Mrs. Newberg, you need to return to your bed!"

"Oh no, I am not staying in this hospital when there's an epidemic running loose," Hank could hear her reply.

He steps out into the hallway, nearly running into her as she rolls past in a wheelchair. "What's going on?" he asks.

"Oh, Hank, there you are," she smiles. "I was just checking myself out. I don't want to risk….catching anything."

Hank glances up at the nurse as a sign that he'll handle it, then leans over Mrs. Newberg. "First of all, this isn't your wheelchair. If you roll out of here in it, they can cite you for stolen property."

"Oh, nonsense," she huffs. "I was just going to borrow it until I bought my own. I'd have it back here by this evening."

"And second of all," he continues, "Right now, this is the safest place to be if you don't want to catch what these other patients have." He stands up straight. "Unless, of course, you have a full-body mosquito net waiting for you at the door, and there's absolutely zero percent chance that a mosquito could ever get into your house. But, I'm sure you can arrange that."

She looks at him for a second, then frowns. "Hank, are you trying to trick me into staying here?" she asks.

"Maybe just a little," he grins. "You had a pretty invasive surgery and it'd be better for you if you stayed a few more days; but I'm also not being dishonest. The disease _is _transmitted through mosquito bites. We've had people spraying all around the city, but we're keeping especially close watch on the hospital grounds. This really is the safest place for you right now."

"How many people have been infected?"

Hank sighs. "Seven, counting Evan. So far, he's still the only one in the danger zone. The earlier patients have already been sent home."

He falls silent and she pats his hand. "I'm so sorry, Hank. How is he, anyway?"

"Not well, but we weren't expecting him to be. He only has about a week left before…"

"Before he gets better and can go home," she smiles. "May I see him?"

He smiles back. "Sure. He's asleep, but you can come in for a little bit. But then you have to go right back to your room, okay?"

"Yes, doctor."

He wheels her in beside the bed and she reaches up to grab Evan's hand. She just looks at him for a few quiet moments, her face a mixture of pity and sadness with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I know you think I don't pay much attention to you, Evan," she says quietly, "but I see more than you think I do. For example, I can see that you've actually woken up while I've been sitting here and you're only pretending to be asleep so you can hear what I have to say about you."

He smiles and opens his eyes. "You're a crafty one," he says weakly. "I admire that in an older woman."

"Older woman?" she scoffs playfully. "I'm going to ignore that on account that you're not on your game right now."

"Nah," he sighs, "I just said that to get a rise out of you. I'm always on my game."

"Yes, you are. You're a very hard-working, compassionate young man, and that's exactly why I'm fully convinced that you're going to make it through this."

He chuckles. "That's what I keep telling Hank, but he doesn't seem so convinced,"

Hank steps forward. "Evan. I never said-"

"You don't have to, Henry. I can see written all over your worry lines when you look at me. Your face is gonna be frozen like that permanently, in which case I'll be forced to start calling you Mr. Magoo. Not that Magoo was a worrier, but he had that same bags-under-the-eyes, scrunched-up-old-man look that you have right now."

Hank shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," Evan grins mischievously.

Mrs. Newberg looks back at Hank. "Hank, dear, would you mind giving us a moment in private."

He hesitates, glancing at Evan, who merely gives him a little nod. "I'll be right outside if you need me," he finally says, slowly stepping out of the room and closing the door.

Evan lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"Must be exhausting," Mrs. Newberg speculates. "You keep up the act just for him?"

He eyes her for a second before giving in. "And Divya. They're freaking out enough as it is. If I stop being my usual obnoxious self, I swear they'll both have heart attacks."

She smiles at him. "You are a very special person, you know. It's a unique ability you have, making it appear as if you always want to hog the spotlight when really you're the one pushing everyone else into it."

"Yeah, I'm the wind beneath their wings, right?" he jokes.

She looks at him seriously. "You are, Evan. They may not know it, but you really are. They'll fall without you."

She pats his arm one more time before turning to wheel herself out.

"Mrs. Newberg?" Evan calls out. She turns back. "Don't tell them that, okay?"

"No. It's something for them to figure out on their own."

He nods. "Thank you. For everything."

She nods back, and knocks on the door, signaling Hank to come back in.

"Hey Hank," Evan says, "Escort the lovely Mrs. Newberg back to her room, okay?"

Hank nods, then smiles at her as he grips the handles to the chair. When he's out of sight, Evan closes his eyes, a small tear rolling down his cheek.

* * *

Jill taps her pen on her desk as she stares at her computer screen. Sighing, she wipes a hand across her eyes.

"You look tired," Charlie observes, stepping into the room.

"Ugh, you have no idea. The more people we call, the more word spreads around town that we have a problem. I don't think we're going to avoid that chaos you were talking about."

"It's under control, Jill. Why don't you take a break, huh? We could go grab something to eat?"

She drops the pen and looks up at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm asking you if you want to eat. Is that a crime?"

After a long hesitation, she asks, "Just as colleagues, right?"

"Of course," he answers innocently.

She stands up, eyeing him as she walks towards the door. "Nothing fancy. And I'm buying my own food."

"Whatever you want," he says, following her out.

* * *

As Hank walks back down the hall towards Evan's room, he sees Jill and Charlie walking together out the front door. He stares after them for a second, clenching his jaw a few times before going into the room.

"Uh oh," Evan says.

"Uh oh, what?" Hank asks, resuming his post in his bedside chair.

"You're making angry Hank face."

Hank shakes his head, smiling. "I am _not_ making angry Hank face."

"Dude, you're totally making – you've got the eyebrow furl thing going on and your nostrils are flaring. You're _pissed._"

"I'm not pissed."

"Really, Henry? Really? You're going to sit there and lie to me. Right now. When I'm like this." He glares at Hank.

"No, Evan, it's not….it's not like that." Hank takes a deep breath. "I'm not pissed. I'm just…upset."

"Because….?" Evan coaxes.

Hank looks away. "This is going to sound so stupid. I shouldn't even be worrying about it right now."

"Oh, no, please Hank, for the love of God, worry about something other than me. Give me some gossip. I'm tired of hearing about yellow fever and how I might die, blah blah blah,"

Hank cocks an eyebrow at him. "Did you just 'blah'…? Nevermind. What's bothering me is…."

"Spit it out while I'm still awake, please," Evan says, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"Jill's back with Charlie." He spits it out quickly, then breathes out a long sigh as he sits back in the chair. Evan stays quiet for a few seconds, then bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god, Hank, don't make it laugh," he says through tears, "It kinda hurts." His laughter morphs into a fit of small coughs and he spits a little bit of blood out of his mouth. Hank stands up quickly, helping his brother sit up until the coughing fit subsides. Gently, he wipes at Evan's mouth with the wet washcloth that had been sitting in a bowl near the bed.

"That wasn't supposed to be funny," Hank sighs.

Still smiling, Evan looks up at him. "You're an idiot," he says, shutting his eyes.

"Yeah? You wanna enlighten me on that one?" Hanks asks, dropping the washcloth back into its bowl. He turns back when his brother doesn't reply. "Evan?"

Listening for a few seconds to Evan's rhythmic breathing, Hank sits back into his chair. "What am I doing?" he asks himself, then slowly drops his head into his hands.


	13. Part 13

**A/N: **I have not forsaken you! Lol, funny how the ending of the season inspired me to get back to this story. Been trying to return to all my unfinished fics, actually. Sorry it took so long to find my motivation. I'll try to be better next time!

* * *

Hank joins Divya in the hallway shutting the door behind him with a shaky hand. He remains staring at the barrier to Evan's room for a few seconds before resting his forehead against it.

"Are you all right?" Divya asks tentatively.

"Yeah, he's fine for now, asleep," he mumbles.

She touches his shoulder. "No, Hank, I asked if _you_ were all right?"

"Oh." He turns to face her finally and wipes his hand down his face, letting out a tired sigh. When he speaks again his voice is quiet, sad. "You should've seen him, Divya. He was terrified, even if he wouldn't admit it."

"Dialysis is a frightening concept. It's always unnerving for a patient the first time." She uses her calm voice, the one she normally reserves for explaining treatments as a professional. At Hank's suddenly pinched features she winces at herself, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

"The first time," he repeats. "There shouldn't have _been_ a 'first time.' There shouldn't be a next time, or another after that, or however many others there'll be until he-"

"Until he gets better," she quickly cuts him off. He snaps his mouth shut and she grasps his hand in hers. "We can't give up on him, Hank, and that means we have to do whatever it takes to keep him alive. If he has to go through this twenty more times, then so be it."

"What happens if…" he looks away from her, dropping his voice even lower, "what happens if he doesn't want to do it anymore?"

She angrily grips his chin and turns his face back towards her. "He's done nothing but fight this disease since he came in here and I don't believe he intends on just calling it quits. You should know better than anyone how stubborn your brother is when he wants something, and right now all he wants is to live. It's our job to keep up the fight when he doesn't have the strength to anymore. He'll never forgive us if we don't."

She sees the moment her words sink in, his face taking on a determined look instead of the lost one. "You know what, you're absolutely right." He wraps his other hand around the one she is still holding him with and gives her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Divya."

"You're welcome," she smiles back.

The next second nurses are rushing down the hall past the pair into a nearby room. Hank and Divya share a look of concern before following after them, carefully staying out of the way. They peek inside the door to see a girl in her teens throwing up blood-tainted vomit.

"Oh no," Hank whispers.

Divya looks to him in a slight panic. "Evan can _not_ know about this," she says firmly.

He nods his head as he steps aside to let another doctor slip into the room. "I'll make sure everyone keeps it quiet."

He steps away to stand guard by Evan's room, leaving Divya to watch the ordered chaos of the emergency staff tending to the girl. A new presence is suddenly beside her and she glances over to see Jill looking worriedly at her. Divya sucks in a trembling breath.

"It's wrong," she says bitterly, shaking her head.

"It's a disease," Jill comments. "It can't be 'wrong.' It's just nature running it's course."

"No, that's not what I meant." Divya hesitates before continuing. "It's wrong that instead of feeling concerned for the girl, I'm more concerned about how Evan might react to this."

"Hey. It's never wrong to be worried about a friend," Jill assures her. She pulls Divya into a hug then guides her away from the doorway. "You want to hear some good news?" she asks as they move down the hall.

"Oh god, yes," Divya is quick to answer with a small smile.

"There haven't been any new cases of the fever reported for a while. I think Charlie actually managed to get this thing under control."

"Well, that _is _good news. How about some celebratory ice cream? I could really use something sweet right now."

Jill's own smile broadens. "Sounds fantastic."

* * *

"There you are," Hank smirks as Evan opens heavy eyelids.

"Oh my god," the sick man moans. "I feel like I've been run over by a tractor. Dialysis sucks."

"Yeah, well, remember that next time I tell you to lay off the junk food."

"Duly noted," Evan sighs, resting a hand over his eyes.

Hank frowns. "No arguments? You'd never give up your fries so easily."

A smile pulls at the lips partially hidden beneath the hand. "Call it a rain check until I get my energy back, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that," Hank promises before he switches gears. "You need anything?"

Evan thinks for a second before he finally drops his hand. "Actually, yeah. I'm kinda cold…"

Hank pats him on the arm. "I'll get you another blanket. Don't go anywhere."

"Ha ha," Evan sarcastically laughs as his brother rushes out of the room. The second the door is shut he lets out a little gasp as he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists. He swallows a few times and focuses on trying to regulate his breathing through the pain. Hank returns just as Evan manages to get himself back under control, and he grins a little at his victory as his big brother tucks a quilt around him.

"I thought hospitals only carried those thin little cloth rags," he speculates as he snuggles further into the new warmth.

"They do, but since Ms. Newberg practically moved her entire bedroom into her ward, she didn't mind parting with one of hers."

"Remind me not to puke on it, then," Evan mumbles, succumbing quickly to his exhaustion and the comfort offered by the quilt.

"She won't mind," Hank tells him softly, resting his hand on his sleeping brother's forehead for a few seconds. Scrubbing the wetness out of his eyes that is threatening to spill over, he stands and slowly peels the quilt back off the bed. "Sorry, Evan, we have to try to keep your body temperature down," he whispers. "I'll put it back when you wake up, okay?"

His brother sleeps on, blissfully unaware of his loss.

A few doors down, a mother weeps at the deteriorating health of her daughter, cursing God in anger for putting the plague on her only little girl.


	14. Part 14

**A/N: **No, I haven't given up on this story! Sometimes the muse doesn't like me on this one, though, and I'm deeply sorry for that. I want to thank you guys that keep poking me with little polite questions and reminders to please update. Without those it probably would've taken me longer to get back to it. I need the guilt trips, apparently, lol. So, yeah, keep it up!

* * *

Hank and Divya sit by Evan's bedside, both of them using their grips on each other's hands to help fight back the tears. There are tubes and wires running seemingly everywhere into the sick man's body and Hank looks at them with a clenched fist. As a doctor, it's a sight he's seen many times before, but seeing his brother as the one hooked up to all those machines…

"Do I…look like a...cyborg?" Evan whispers so quietly they almost miss the question. It tears at Hank that much more to watch Evan struggle to keep up the good humor, but he plays along because he knows that's what his kid brother wants.

"Yeah, you kind of do," he smiles, but it looks like the fake, plastered on smile that it is.

Evan accepts the attempt, anyway, and grins back as he shuts his eyes. "You should…take…a picture. 'S only gonna last…a few…days."

Hank's hand reflexively squeezes tighter around Divya's but she doesn't complain, just wraps her fingers equally tighter around his. She leans forward and gently places her other hand on Evan's arm, careful not to disturb the IV line. "Trust me, you don't want a picture of this. Once you saw it you'd realize it would have a dangerous potential for blackmail, and you know I'd use that against you at some point."

He chuckles slightly and winces at the motion, but talks through it anyway. "You have…a devious…mind. Always kinda….liked that."

"I know," she smirks sadly as she pats his arm.

He's asleep again seconds later causing Hank to slump back in his chair. "He can barely stay awake, anymore."

Jill steps into the room and speaks softly, slightly startling both Hank and Divya who hadn't known she was there. "At least he's still in and out. It's a good sign, according to Charlie. He said if they slip into a coma…"

"They…" Hank looks up at her. "How's the girl?"

Jill shakes her head and glances over at Evan. "Doing about as well as he did. I'm concerned about Connie - her mother - too."

"Of course," Divya responds matter-of-factly. "She could be losing her daughter. What's not to be concerned about?"

Jill furls her eyebrows in thought. "I don't know, there's something off about her bedside manner; it's not the same as I'm used to."

Divya frowns. "Everyone grieves differently."

"I know, I just…" She shakes it off. "It's probably nothing. Do you two need a break?"

"Ugh, I could use one," Divya affirms, stretching up in her chair. She smiles thankfully as she trades places with Jill, and leans over to give Evan a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back soon," she promises and makes her way out.

Hank continues to stare at his brother, too tired to try to hide the fact that he's not making eye contact with Jill. When she tries to take his hand he awkwardly pulls away.

"Okay, Hank, now is probably the worst possible time to have this discussion, but I need to know what's going on with you," Jill starts in.

He turns to her, exasperated. "My brother is dying. _That's _what's going on with me."

"First of all, he's not dying. Everyone here is refusing to believe that except for you, even him, so quit saying it," she snaps back.

"Doctor's number one rule: never give false hope," he mumbles.

Her look softens. "Fifty/fifty odds, Hank, remember? Doctor's other rule? _Never _give up on a patient that still has a chance. You hold onto that rule tighter than any doctor I've ever seen and I admire you for that; don't stop doing it now, not with him." She reaches out and forcefully takes his hand, speaking even more softly. "And I'm not the one that did this to him, so why are you taking it out on me?"

He sighs and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again as his eyes trail over to Evan. "I can't, Jill," he whispers, "not now." She gives him a look like she's about to push further, but he cuts her off. "Can you sit with him for a few? I need… I just…."

She nods. "Take as long as you need."

He thanks her quietly and backs out the door, turning just in time to avoid running into Connie in the hall. They lock eyes for a brief second, sharing a haunted look, before she simply gives him an understanding sharp nod of the head. He ducks his face and continues on his way, too emotional with his own feelings of helplessness to say anything to the distraught mother. She begins to move back down the hall to her daughter's room, pausing in the doorway to peer in at Evan for just a second. She gasps slightly at the sight of him and claps a hand over her mouth before backing away, the words she had overheard ringing through her head: _fifty/fifty odds._

Her mind retreats into a darker corner as she sorts through the logic. Many people had gotten ill from the rare disease, but only two lay dying – one a grown man and one a young girl. Fifty/fifty odds. If one dies, the other lives…

She walks slowly back to her daughter's room and sinks down into the chair by the bed. The girl looks up at the strange way her mother is smiling.

"Is there good news, Mom?" she asks hesitantly.

Connie grips the girl's hand. "Yes, baby, you're going to be just fine. I'll take care of everything."

_**~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~**_

Jill absently runs her fingers through the curls of Evan's hair as she lets her mind wander. His breath catches suddenly, snapping her back into reality as his eyelids flutter back open. He looks at her for a second and she can see the confusion on his face.

"Evan?" she prompts.

"Mom?" he whispers, squinting at her.

Her face drops and she freezes for a second, not certain how to respond. Making an unsure decision, she shakes her head and leans in a little closer. "It's Jill, Evan, do you remember me?"

He looks at her a little longer and for a second she's sure he has no idea who she is, but then his eyes clear and he gives her a smile. "That's a…stupid question… I'm sick…not…brain damaged."

She relaxes back a little, deciding he doesn't need to know what type of effects a long-term fever could have on the brain; but his behavior concerns her, nonetheless. Charlie had mentioned that confusion and disorientation were some of the last symptoms exhibited just before…

"Charlie," Evan randomly blurts out.

"Excuse me?" Jill asks and looks around, expecting to see her ex hovering somewhere nearby. The room is empty except for the two of them.

"Hank… He thinks…you're back…with Charlie," he explains. "I've…been in and…out. Sorry… I shouldn't… 's rude…" He trails off, losing the energy to keep up with the long sentences.

She grips his hand. "Huh-uh, not your fault. It's not like you can just get up and leave when we're talking in front of you. We're the ones being rude." He nods at her quasi-apology so she moves past it. "Why does Hank think I'm back with Charlie?"

He shrugs slightly. "Won't…say… Should ask…Charlie."

She bites her lip for a second. "Ya know what? I think I will…"


	15. Part 15

**A/N: **Just so you all know, this latest delay in an update was not due to lack of trying. I managed to damage myself in such a fashion that left me pretty much one-handed for several weeks. Typing proved to be a bit difficult, lol. But, I am healed enough to go back to the writing board and got this out as soon as I could for you!

Everyone thank my resident update poker - czyk61. Every week I get a gentle nudge/reminder/question on how I am and can I get to it soon and just making sure I didn't forget about you all. The pokes are generally done in an appreciated gentle, humor-filled fashion so as not to rub me the wrong way and definitely keep me wanting to update.

Your reviews on the last chapter were so awesome, btw! All the "welcome back"s and "thanks for not forgetting about us" etc are a definite motivator. And to the anon reviewer who pleaded in an oh-so-sad voice "Please don't leave us again." Guh! Broke my heart! You know how to make a gal feel guilty, lol. That one begging reply had me wanting to do another update faster than any other. The next chapter is already in the works, just so you know, and should be out soon, so don't panic when you hit the end of this... Sorry for my evil ways ahead of time...

* * *

Jill waits beside a heavily asleep Evan until Divya finally returns; and after exchanging a few minutes of light conversation in hopes of somewhat easing the stress of the situation, she excuses herself with the notion that she has to get back to work. It isn't a complete lie; she does have things that need to be tended to, but there are two more prominent reasons why she needs to leave. One is that she has the feeling Hank won't readily return with her still being in the room. With as awkward as he's been around her since Evan was brought in, her pushing for a reason why as soon as they were alone together (mostly - Evan aside) didn't seem to help matters. Two, she has every intention of tracking down Charlie to find out _exactly _what he had done that's making Hank act so aloof; though with her time spent alone with a quiet Evan and her thoughts, she had already speculated on the answer. She hopes to God that she's wrong, but if she's right, there's going be hell to pay…

_**~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~**_

Hank sighs as he watches Jill exit his brother's room, a determined look on her face and a swiftness in her step making it obvious that she's a woman on a mission. Hoping said goal has nothing to do with Evan, he slips quietly back into the room and sits down beside Divya. The worry in her eyes makes him shift uncomfortably in the millisecond it takes for her to actually speak.

"Jill wanted to me to warn you that Evan might be slipping into…bouts of confusion off and on," she tries to explain gently.

Hank closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, appreciative of Divya's attempts to lessen the magnitude of the news, but unable to stop the doctor in him from translating the actual meaning behind her words. "Delirium," he mumbles dejectedly.

Divya's look softens even further. "It's not like we didn't expect it, Hank. It just means he's in the final phases of the disease. He can still pull through this."

"I know," he says with a small nod, trying his hardest to follow the advice Jill had given him earlier. He shifts forward in his seat and carefully rests his hand on the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest. "You hear that, Ev? This'll all be over soon and we can get you back home, okay? You're going to be fine."

A small smile quirks at the corner of Divya's lips, glad to see Hank in the increasingly rare "positive thinking" frame of mind. She hopes he can keep it up; if Evan degrades further towards a non-lucid state of mind then they would need someone else to fill in the role he had assumed of keeping spirits lifted. Hank stepping up in his stead would be in Evan's best interest; he would need to know that his brother was not about to lose faith in him, wasn't going to give up on him, would continue to fight for him. She had seen patients who should, by all rights, be dead, but seemed to survive on nothing but a strong bond to someone they weren't willing to leave behind just yet. Hank could do the same for Evan if was willing…

"He _will _be fine," she reiterates to the older Lawson brother. "Keep telling him that and perhaps you'll start to actually believe it, yourself."

His only response is the tiniest of appeasing smiles as he continues to sit with his hand planted firmly on Evan's chest, the need overwhelmingly strong to feel his brother's fight to cling to life. If not for that slight movement beneath his palm and the steady hums and beeps of the machines in the room, Hank would think that Evan, with his pale, sunken look, had already slipped away.

_**~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~**_

Charlie finishes up his rounds and just steps into the break room when Jill slips in behind him. He smiles at her and motions for her to join him at the little round table; she sweetly smiles back and sits across from him, folding her hands together on the tabletop.

"Charlie?" she begins with honeyed tones.

_Uh oh, _he thinks, _I'm in trouble._ He's known her too long to think that starting a conversation out this way could be anything but bad.

"Why is it, exactly, that Evan is the only person you've treated who's come in with the Fever?" she asks casually.

He takes a quick breath. "Um, because I told you all already that I have too many bad memories to want to go there again and that I'm treating Evan because he's a friend of yours."

"Something's telling me that's not the only reason," she prompts, then leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. "Hank thinks you and I are back together," she continues in that same too-casual tone. "He's been avoiding me since you agreed to take care of Evan, you know."

_Busted, _Charlie thinks with a sigh. "Jill, just so you know, I didn't make any demands so don't get mad," he begins, wincing slightly as he sees the look on her face darken.

"Charlie, did you use me as payment to treat him?" she asks coldly.

"It's was Hank's idea," he says defensively, immediately regretting it as he watches her lips purse together in anger.

She stands up and slaps him hard across the face before storming towards the exit. In the doorway, she pauses and turns back around. "If Hank offered me up, it was out of a desperate need to save his brother's life. You took advantage of that, Charlie. You're despicable. When this thing is through, I want you out of my hospital."

"You can't do that," Charlie protests.

Her answer is to flip him off as she leaves the room.

_**~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~**_

Day fades into night as Hank continues to sit alone in the hospital room, Divya having been persuaded to leave for the evening. He does his best to smile down at his baby brother who is, at the moment, definitely closer to "baby brother" Evan than "younger adult brother" Evan.

"Welcome aboard…the Intergalactic…Starship…Ranger 3," the sick man whispers out with a weak salute.

"What are my orders, Captain?" Hank quietly plays along.

A tired cough forces it's way from Evan's lungs before he continues, mindless of the dark spittle that Hank gently wipes away from his mouth. "Steer a course for…for…" He furls his brow in frustration at the lost memory. "What was…?"

"Nebulon Six?" Hank offers.

Evan shakes his head, the movement so subtle it's almost imperceptible. "No… That one…blew up…remember?"

Hank can't help but laugh. He thinks back to when Nebulon Six met its terrible fate in a weed-overgrown lot behind an abandoned church; or, to young Evan, it was the vast glory of the Fire Flare Solar System. The demolition of the doomed planet was reconstructed with a honeydew melon and several firecrackers…several firecrackers too many. Much to Evan's delight the whole melon exploded into near nothingness, showering the boys with sticky juice and bits of green Nebulon. Hank threw a fit. Evan giggled hysterically and asked if they could do it again.

"Henry?" his brother mumbled, bringing Hank back to the present. "I can't… The purple… What was…the name?"

Hank tries his best to remember, but shakes his head as he draws a blank. The pretend games were always Evan's; young Henry was forced into adulthood much too early to be as enamored with the creations of a child's imagination. He regrets it now as he sees the disappointment on his brother's face.

_Should've paid more attention, _he thinks sadly, _to a lot of things…_

"You get…something…in your eye?" Evan murmurs.

Hank reaches up and wipes away the stray tear that had escaped his control, and focuses once again on his forced smile. "Just a little dust Captain," he chokes out. "Coordinates for the purple planet are locked in, sir."

"Zemptis," Evan recalls with a smile. "With the…blue…fish people."

"That's right, Evan, I remember now." Hank chuckles softly. "You wanted me to marry the fish princess. I went AWOL after that."

"Yeah…you sucked…as my…SiC," the sick man smirks, his eyes clearing up again.

Hank shoots forward in his seat. "Evan, you back with me big guy?"

His brother looks down at his bedridden, weakened body in confusion. "Did I…escape?

"For a little while, yeah," Hank smiles.

Evan shuts his eyes in understanding. "Where to?"

"The Ranger 3," Hank answers with a sympathetic grin.

Nodding his head, Evan grins back. "That's a…good place…to go…"

He slips off to sleep again, allowing Hank to heave out a frustrated sigh. The energy drains from his body like pulling the plug in a bathtub and he slouches down into his seat. He closes his eyes and is about to slide away into his own dreams when a frantic voice echoes through his head.

"Sir? Sir? Aren't you a doctor?" Connie, the mother of the other Fever patient, practically yells into his ear.

Hank sits up with a start. "Yes, but-"

"Oh, thank goodness. I thought someone said you were a doctor. I need you to look at my baby. She needs help, now!"

"But," Hank tries again, wondering why she doesn't just call a nurse or one of the other doctors.

"Please, she needs a doctor now and you were the first person I found!"

Instincts kicking in, he takes another glance at his sleeping brother and decides Evan should be okay for the few minutes it should take for Hank to at least look at the girl before he can catch the attention of one of the staff. With a nod at Connie, he heads out of the room with her close at his heels. He doesn't notice when she quietly stops following him and backtracks to Evan's room. She stares at the sleeping man for a long moment before her eyes go hard.

"I'm sorry, dear, I just don't see any other way," she whispers as she reaches out towards one of the machines…


	16. Part 16

**A/N: **Was anyone else as horribly disappointed at the end of the last episode as I was? Or am I just warped? 'Cause I was _really _praying for some Evan whump. *sigh* Disappointed again. So I give you Evan angsties here, instead. :P

* * *

Hank rushes into the room housing the sick girl, and frowns when he sees her sleeping peacefully. Quietly, he makes it over to the bedside just as she flutters open heavy eyelids.

"Who're you?" she mumbles.

With a gentle smile to alleviate any fears she might have, he introduces himself. "I'm Dr. Lawson. Your mother sent me in here to check on you. She said you weren't doing well." He turns to shoot a questioning look at Connie and is surprised to see that she isn't there.

The girl shakes her head. "I'm okay. Sort of. What'd Mom say?"

Hank turns back to her. "She said there was an emergency… I thought she was right behind me…"

"She does that sometimes," the teen says with a sigh. "She's being more weird than normal, though. She told me the she was gonna make everything better, something about math…turning fifty into a hundred? I don't think she's taking her meds right now…"

The image of nearly running into Connie in the hall flashes through Hank's mind. She was right outside Evan's room, listening as they were discussing the fifty/fifty odds. His eyes going wide, he rushes into the hall and sprints back towards his brother's side, praying he isn't too late.

_**~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~RP~**_

As Connie reaches over to start shutting off machines, she looks down to see bright blue eyes gazing up at her in confusion.

"Mom?" Evan whispers, his voice fearful and childlike. "I had a bad dream."

Connie freezes, staring down at the sick man as tears well up in his eyes. A weak arm tries to reach up to wipe them away, but his hand falls short, causing him to cry even more as he fails to understand why his body refuses to respond to his commands.

"Mom, I'm scared," he sobs.

Tears spilling from her own eyes, motherly instincts kick in and instead of carrying through with her intended devastation, she instead reaches down and gently pulls Evan into a hug. "There, there, little one," she soothes, pressing his face into her shoulder and stroking her fingers gently through his hair. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Everything's going to be fine."

She stiffens slightly as she hears feet pounding into the room behind her, and turns her head ever so slightly to flash concerned, saddened, and deeply apologetic eyes at the panic-stricken Dr. Lawson.

"Connie, what did you-" he starts to ask.

"Nothing," she interrupts. "He just had a nightmare. Mommy's making it all better."

Hank slowly walks forward, his heart racing as he slides in beside the woman, and reaches out to lay a hand on the shoulder of his still softly crying little brother. "Evan, I'm here now. You're going to be okay, all right? But we need to get you lying back down."

With a sniffle, Evan turns his face against Connie's shoulder just enough to reveal one red-rimmed eye, and a cheek stained with both tears and the ever-present rouge of blood. He studies his older brother for a moment before taking a shuddering breath and nodding that he's ready to be let go. Connie and Hank both guide him back down to the pillows, Hank grabbing a wet rag to wipe away the horrid pink streaks on Evan's face. He takes a look at the front of Connie's shirt, but she shakes her head at anything he's about to say.

"It's my penance for my wicked thoughts," she mutters. "Marked by blood, a punishment for trying to rid the world of such an innocent."

She reaches a hand out to stroke Evan's cheek, but Hank grips her wrist firmly and pulls it away from his brother. "Connie, can you go ask for a nurse, please?" he asks calmly.

She hesitates for a moment before moving towards the door and calling for the first person on staff that she sees. Keeping one eye on his brother and one on Connie, Hank pulls the nurse over to the corner to speak with her in hushed tones, explaining to the horrified woman the details of what almost happened.

"Should I call the police?" she asks.

"No," Hank quickly objects. "I'm not sure what neurosis she's suffering from, but I imagine she wouldn't be allowed to raise a daughter on her own if it wasn't being controlled with proper medication. I can understand her missing a few doses under-" He looks back at Evan's withered form. "-this kind of stress. Just make sure she gets back on her doctor's routine, and stays with her daughter from now on."

The nurse nods quickly, understanding the underlying "keep her away from us" message beneath Hank's words. With gentle guidance, she grips Connie's elbow and guides her from the room, leaving a frazzled Hank to plunk down in the chair beside his quieted brother.

"She's crazy…but I understand…her logic," Evan suddenly says in a soft, but clear tone of voice.

Hank sits up straight, startled. "How much of that did you hear?"

Evan looks at him with guilt-ridden eyes. "Me…or her...little girl? ...Not a…fair choice..."

Alarm bells begin to go off in Hank's head. Evan knew, and in his fragile state of mind was thinking exactly as Hank feared he would should he learn of the girl. "It's not a choice we get to make, Evan," he states firmly. "You're the math wiz, you know the odds don't work that way."

"Still…" Evan breathes out, almost too silent to hear.

"'Still' nothing," Hank snaps, then softens his voice. "Don't give up on me, Evan; I'll never forgive you if you do." Despite his best efforts, the stress of the entire situation breaks the doctor down into heavy tears. He continues to talk through them, anyway, his words coming out thick with emotion as he tries desperately to break through his brother's suddenly self-sacrificial attitude. "When Dad left and we realized he wasn't coming back, I was so mad. I threw myself into taking care of Mom, of you, turning away from all my friends and hobbies. I was turning into a bitter old man before I even hit puberty; but you…you wouldn't let me. You kept doing things that would get me out of the house, getting yourself into trouble on purpose, but in the stupidest ways." He chuckled a little through his anguish. "It pissed me off, but I always wound up laughing at you later. You were the only one that ever made me laugh. And when Mom…when Mom died you just kept it right up. It never mattered where we ended up, you were always the one that held a flashlight in the dark. You always saw something good in everything, and that, Evan, that's what kept me alive. You dragging me out here to the Hamptons? You saved me again, and I know I can't ever repay you for that. This, Hankmed, working with you as my partner? This is the best thing that's ever happened to me. If you leave now, it'll all be gone. All the work you did keeping me up when we were kids, everything you've done for me now – it'll all have been for nothing. If you die on me, Evan, maybe that girl will live and maybe she won't, but I swear if you go out without putting up a fight, you'll take me with you. Do you understand?"

Evan looks away from the sight of his normally stoic big brother in shambles beside him, and shuts his eyes. He stays that way for so long that Hank's afraid the younger man has fallen asleep again before the issue is resolved, but finally Evan speaks slowly with a touch of humor in his tone. "You ever…hear the riddle…about flipping a coin?

Scrubbing an arm across his face, Hank tries to smile and answers, "No. Why don't you tell me?"

"I'll give you…the gist… You flip a coin…six times… What're the odds…of getting...heads…the last time?"

This time Hank's smile is genuine and full of relief. "Still fifty/fifty, right?"

"Still…fifty/fifty," Evan confirms. He turns to look at his brother. "I'll try, Hank… I promise."

"No," Hank says, then in his best Yoda impression continues with, "'Try not. Do."

Evan laughs, ignoring the coughing fit it sends him into. "That's, like…the worst…Yoda ever… Don't…ever do that…again."

Hank laughs, too. "Guess I better not. Your lungs can't handle it."

Evan's chuckles fade away as his eyes suddenly droop shut, the smile sliding off his face as his features go slack.

"Evan?" Hank asks in alarm, shaking him slightly.

His brother stays limp and still as death, the only things signaling that he's still alive being the steady beeping rhythm of the machines.


End file.
